


Bound

by empires



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Case Fic, Eugenics, Fertility Issues, Genetic Engineering, Implied Mpreg, Implied/Referenced Torture, Knotting, M/M, Murder, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Police Procedural, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 14:22:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 51,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9661103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empires/pseuds/empires
Summary: His first lesson is one to be held above all others: the pack runs as one.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please pay close attention to the warnings. While there will be no actual mpreg in this fic (that's not how I roll), it will be referenced rather heavily alongside discussions of pregnancy, reproduction, and fertility concerns.
> 
> If you've read this on tumblr and find yourself coming across sections you don't recall the story progressing a little differently, don't worry. It's undergoing an overhaul in the move.
> 
> Once upon a time, in an askbox awash with the light of good intentions, whaillord requested werewolf fic with some knotting. Kind and exceedingly patient, this gentle requestee could not have known that the writer, so foul and treacherous, would easily type thousands of words of titillating fun before stopping mid-sentence. A terrible, indulgent question of some consequence sat poised on the tip of this writer's tongue: How did they get to this point? 
> 
> So, as seen with many of my prompt fills, I begin this one with an apology. 
> 
> Whaillord, I am so sorry!

The moon finds Dick, as it often does when it hangs full in the black sky, waiting for the pack. 

Beyond the western tree line comes the baying howl of wolves. Dick’s spent years learning their voices. Damian’s goading bark is echoed by Bruce’s rich howl. A triumphant cry follows, Cass by the short staccato rhythm. Damian yips, a sulky sound, so perhaps—Dick closes his eyes imagining that perhaps Cass darted into lean, puppish Damian knocking him off balance before taking the lead. He’s witnessed their play so often over the years that he’s certain it happened in just this way.

A new voice joins them, deep but hesitant, and that can only be Jason. It’s his first run with the cursed blood pumping through his veins. His first full moon.

Alfred closes the book in his hands and rises. “They certainly are in high spirits,” he says, setting his book back on the shelf.

“Yeah and getting close,” says Dick, feeling an anxious weight lift from his shoulders. “They’re coming home.”

“Then I must make myself available for their return,” Alfred says. “I took the liberty of preparing an extra bottle of tonic. You will find it in Jason’s room, if you’ll remind him of its use.”

Dick flushes slightly. “I will. Thank you.”

"And might I say that it is good to see you with the pack this evening. Your presence has been missed.”

Dick glances toward the window where he finds Alfred's warm concern reflected at him. "Thanks, Alfred. I've missed it too.”

As the butler excuses himself to finish preparing for the pack’s return Dick turns his attention back to the extensive grounds. He presses against the cool glass peering into the silvered woods outside. This part has always been his favorite.

The wolves burst from the tree line fleeting toward the manor like shadows under a rising star. Four bodies race as one, ears flattening, paws beating over the lush grass until they stop just within manor’s light. The largest wolf circles the lawn twice then comes to rest on his great haunches. Its massive head tilts back, its jaws part revealing sharp canines and a lolling tongue. A howl travels through the air. The sound is soon answered by the rest of the pack. Their blended voices linger in the frigid air. Then the four members of the Wayne pack rise and trot towards the patio and the open door.

Bruce crosses the threshold first, a massive beast with keen eyes that acknowledge Dick before he continues into the hallway. Cass and Damian bound through the door next scrambling over each other with playful yips. Both turn seeking Dick. Their sleek forms jostle against his legs and push beneath his hands. He pats them gently before they trot to their respective cushions. 

The last wolf enters the room once Cass and Damian leave and stops in front of Dick. On all fours, his snout is level with Dick’s sternum. This wolf is unfamiliar to Dick and so beautiful, he lets out a soft, delighted laugh.

Those born with the curse know their other self, their wolf, instinctively. It is a part of them. Those rare few who are transformed, who are made through blood and fire as Jason had been, never know the exact shape of their wolf until their first full moon. This is Dick’s first look at Jason’s cursed form and all he can think is he’s so much bigger than Dick imagined he’d be. So much bigger and so beautiful. Jason’s natural coloring is expressed in his wolf form. Fur the color of wet soot spreads along his entire body broken by an ashen streak above his right eye and the tip of his tail. His eyes retain a sense of his humanity, his intelligence, in their clear aquamarine, familiar but for how they're now rimmed with gold. The mark of the wolf. 

A cool, wet nose pressing against Dick’s hand startles him from those thoughts. Jason ducks under his palm and pushes into asking to be pet. Dick obliges, crouching down to his knees and drags his hand down the soft fur, stroking hand over hand from head to his tail.

“Figures you’d be a handsome fella like this too, huh? Just gorgeous. I’m serious, little wing. You sure are something to see.” Dick scrubs behind his pointy ears. Jason yips and trots backwards then pushes back under Dick’s hand, abashed but needy. 

The rough side of Jason’s tongue laps at his ear. Dick wipes away the slobber with a grin and stands. “Forget everything I just said. You’re gross."

Jason barks and leaps up to lick his cheek again.

Bruce once confessed that all shifters had difficulties comprehend human speech was when first learning their wolf form, and he’d struggled particularly in listening. The sounds are too fluid, too melodious and same-sounding to recognize, but over time, he’s learned to fully understand and respond appropriately. Jason seems to understand Dick  _ now _ , and he wonders if it’s a side-effect of their bond.

“Come on. I got some of that ointment in your room. Alfred says it helps after.” He heads to the door but Jason blocks his path. His step forward is countered by a short bark. “What’s the matter?”

Jason crouches down a little eyeing him. After a moment Jason whirls out of the room. Dick frowns, heading through the door, but Jason darts in front of him blocking the way. He barks again, flashing his teeth.

“What’s wrong?” Dick reaches out his hand slowly. Jason’s jaw closes around his fleshy palm and shakes gently. He freezes, heart lurching in his chest when the sharp points dig into his skin. The pain is there and gone, but the shock stings worse. “What the hell, Jay?”

Jason growls, lowly. The sound vibrates under Dick’s skin.

For a moment Dick doesn’t know what to do. He stands there staring into Jason’s all too human eyes while his breathing shallows. There’s no explanation for this behavior not when Jason had reacted to Dick in such a familiar manner before. He licks his lips, readying to call Bruce when he feels pressure against his legs. Damian releases a snarl, lips curling back from his teeth as he moves forward.

“Damian, wait.” Dick reaches out to soothe them both, jarring the hold Jason has on him. Pain laces up through his wrist to his elbow and Dick gasps, hurt. “Shit,” he hisses, tears threatening to spill. 

Jason drops Dick’s hand suddenly. He whines low in his throat, ears flattening. Damian takes another step toward him, snapping his teeth, but Jason avoids it, trotting a step backwards before disappearing into the hallway.

The string holding him upright snaps leaving Dick unbalanced, heart pounding. He presses against Damian while his mind whirls in search for some explanation, some semblance of control. He quickly cycles through the main pack behaviors he learned from Bruce when he'd arrived at the manor. They were extensive lessons that helped Dick understand the shifter lifestyle, pack dynamics, the way of the wolf. And he knew how to exist among them. He knows he belongs. Slowly, his breathing evens. 

Dick’s never experienced anything like it, a shifter he knows attacking while they were in wolf form. He’s not sure what it could mean.

“You’re afraid,” Cass says, startling Dick from his thoughts. Finding Cass reverted so soon after the pack’s run is surprising. Cass prefers her wolf form and typically chooses to wait for the transformation to overcome her naturally rather than force the change. It takes so much out of shifters, not just the shifting of bones and the flexing of organs inside a body that holds two minds but also the hours spent running as the wolf. 

“You are afraid,” Cass repeats, sweeping her hair away from her bright eyes. She gently guides Dick’s hand into the light to check the wound. “But his fear is greater.” 

“He’s afraid of me?” Dick asks, wryly, feeling that he should have a monoply on fear right now. Or at the very least strong concerns. Jason bit him. There’s no reason for Jason to have done such a thing. Actually, there are a couple of reasons that would explain this, but Dick shies away from the idea of a feral shifter. Damian rubs against his legs soothingly.

Cass shrugs bare shoulders deeper into her blanket. “Of what you feel. You feel so much. It can be.” She searches for a word. “Overwhelming.”

“So I’ve been told. But I’m the one feeling overwhelmed right now,” Dick says, feeling a sudden urge to get up stairs. He should check on Jason before Bruce does.  

“Jason broke the skin but you do not bleed. Do you need a bandaid?” She smiles when she says this, perhaps remembering Dick using the same words with her so long ago.

“I’ll be fine. But I should check on him at least. First full moon.”

Cass stops him with a quiet hand. Dick tries not to let the emotions overcome him but Cass’s words, her touch is quite rare. “He wanted to stop you from following him.”

“I figured that out myself, but he’s calling for me.” Dick can feel the sting of it in his chest, a pain that is not his own. Gently, he removes her hand and starts up the stairs escorted to the top by Damian, his little shadow. They cross the landing and enter the corridor that leads to Dick's room. And Jason's.

“You can go on to your room. I’m going to be okay,” he says, petting behind Damian's ears. Damian whuffs at him, doubtfully or perhaps warningly, but he turns away at the next hallway disappearing toward his own rooms, preferring to transform while asleep.

The eastern wing is quiet. Dick’s footfalls barely disturb the thick carpet running over the floor. He knocks on the half-open door to Jason’s bedroom and let’s himself inside. The lights are still off. The only things out of place are a pair of sneakers jumbled together at the foot of the bed and a game controller tossed upon his pillows. Jason isn’t here. 

He exits the room determined to find his erstwhile brother further down the hall. Faintly, he hears a vile retching sound down the hall followed by the flushing and the shower spray. The debate for checking on Jason and waiting in room tilts toward waiting. Dick slips out of his shoes and settles against the footboard worrying the teeth marks in his skin. Waiting is all he ever seemed to do since joining the Wayne household. 

Jason stumbles into the room some ten minutes later, a wide cotton towel wraps around his hips. He leans heavily on the handle, face pale and damp, knees shaking. His stomach muscles twitch noticeably. Dark circles spread beneath his eyes.

Dick exhales as he forces his gaze up to meet Jason’s fevered stare.

"What are you doing in here?" Jason sounds frustrated and resigned, a combination of feeling that strikes Dick exactly the wrong way. Dick’s temper flares and he doesn’t care to reign it back. 

“Trying to help the a-hole that bit me,” he snaps.

“Bit you? What are you talking about?” Jason rolls his eyes, starts to turn away. Dick isn’t having any of it, not when Jason held his hand between his wickedly sharp teeth. He shoves his palm towards Jason’s face.

“Yes. You bit me.” 

Jason’s eyes widen as he takes in the clean gashes in Dick’s hand. His cheeks pale. “I wouldn’t…I. Did I? Dick, was I trying to turn? Or wait.” Jason's pale face turns ashen. "Was I going... I mean, shit, Dickie. Is it possible that I was going...."

“No.” The pain was secondary to the fear for both Jason and himself. Remembering that feeling drains the anger from him. He slumps back on the bed, hand cradled against his chest. It doesn’t even hurt anymore. “You weren’t going feral. That's a myth built on some convenient scapegoating. And you can't turn me, Jay. You know that.”

“I might now it, but does the wolf?" Jason pushes off from the door, fist clenched tight at the towel. "I don’t know what to say. You know I would never try to hurt you.” Jason’s face is pale but his blue eyes burn with that promise. Dick sighs knowing that it’s true. Jason would never try to hurt him. Not deliberately. Not intentionally. 

“We should probably talk about this.” Dick gestures to the spot beside him. Jason settles onto the bed and for a moment, he leans so that their heads rest against each other and takes a deep breath, like he’s breathing Dick into his lungs. “Can you at least tell me what you were thinking? I want to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Jason laughs bitterly. “I can’t tell you what was going through my head right then. I couldn’t even think clearly until five minutes ago.”

“It hurt?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” says Jason. “Didn’t think it’d be this bad. Not when the first turning was so easy. It was. God, it was fucking amazing,” he says, voice hushed.

“Yeah?” Dick asks, encouraging him to share.

“I thought about it before, when Bruce would go out. I mean, who didn’t?” Jason peers at him Dick from the corner of his eye and Dick nods, because he’d also spent nights staring out of his bedroom window watching the wolf dance in and out of the shadows. He’d always wondered what it would feel like to run free, to be wild, to see the world in such a different manner. 

“You think we’d know every inch of this place, but there’s so much out there. I could smell the difference. I understood things. I could see everything clearly. I could do all the things the pack did. It was automatic. Instinct.” Jason pauses, nose wrinkled. “I think I chased a squirrel.”

Dick snorts because that's Jason, curious and desperate to race after the answer to the things he didn’t understand.

“Laugh all you want, but I think I caught it. I could taste  _ something _ when I changed back and. I don’t know, man. I don’t remember everything that happens when I’m wolf. I can’t get to that place when I’m human. I guess what I’m trying to say is, I don’t know why I did it, but I didn’t mean to. You know.” He points at Dick’s hand. “So, I’m sorry.”

Dick curls his arm through Jason’s and brings them together with a light squeeze. “Apology accepted. I’m not sure why you felt like you had to bite me, but we need to figure it out so it doesn’t happen again.”

Jason sighs. “Yeah. Yeah, I get it.”

This close, Dick sees the tiny tremor wracking Jason's fingers, the heavy pull of his lips, and the muscles twitching beneath his skin. No one quite understood the full effects the change would have on Jason’s body. Even Bruce’s careful preparation hadn’t foreseen how much a second transformation would take out of him.

“You look exhausted.”

Jason's lips pull into a tired smile. “The guy puts in sixteen hours of beauty sleep but tells me I look exhausted. You wouldn't look that pretty if you went jogging through the woods for six hours and then got hit by an eighteen wheeler.”

“Yes I would, and for the record, it’s only ten hours,” Dick says, affection bleeding into his voice. He reaches for the small bottle on the nightstand. “Now lay down. I have that ointment for you.”

“I thought the Alf smell was fresh in here.” Jason pauses in his stretch when Dick spurts some oil into his hands. “You wanna to do this for me? Even after all of this?” Jason looks at him strangely, disbelieving.

“Of course. This is part of it, right?” Dick waves his hand encompassing the both of them, the night, and his willingness then rubs his hands together before the oil drips to the sheets. He stills under Jason’s scrutiny, those eyes darkening as the golden ring expand. Jason nods and spreads out on his belly, tension radiating from him in thick waves. 

It’s a testament to Jason’s weariness that he lays down without an argument. Dick warms the oils in his hands and spreads it along Jason’s joints, his elbows, knees and ankles, his shoulder blades and the long ridge of his spine, all the places that experience extreme pressure during the change. Jason responds to Dick’s gentle nudging, turning with his hands as needed. They don’t speak and that allows Dick to concentrate on the feel of Jason’s skin beneath his hands, the slow release of tension where his fingers press and knead, and the quiet  whimpering when the soreness eases from his body. Jason’s eyes grow unfocused. His lids droop. He moans into the pillow. It’s such a small sound but it strikes through Dick’s body like lightning. He ignore the dull pulse in his body and the urge to curl against Jason's side. It's the bond, not Dick, and he has to remind himself that who he is hasn't really changed. 

So many other things have changed.

Ever since Bruce sat down and explained his past, the death of his parents, his struggle with the wolf, Dick has understood his role in their home. For the longest time he was the one to remind Bruce of his own humanity. As their family grew, so did the pack, and Dick continues to be that beacon. Yet he is the one who stays behind, alone, while the others run together. He doesn’t resent it, can’t resent  _ them _ , but over time, he’s come to feel a certain separation. Jason eased away the loneliness when he first came to the manor. Young, angry, alive, and so  _ human _ . They’d become fast friends, a found family of sorts. Then Jason disappeared as suddenly as he came sending everyone’s lives into turmoil.

Now, Jason has returned, and he’s so much more than the scrappy kid who maintained a stack of twenty books on his night stand and kept Dick company when Bruce ran alone in the night. Now, Dick is so much more as well. An anchor to protect Jason from the overwhelming nature of the curse, a vessel to unburden his sorrows, a place to share his heart. They are tied together, pack but different.

Jason catches Dick’s hand on his shoulder. “I won’t hurt you,” Jason mutters drowsily. “When we. When it happens. I won’t hurt you. Don’t want to ever do that.”

“I know,” he whispers and watches the lashes spread across Jason’s cheeks as sleep takes him under. Brushing the hair back from his forehead, Dick considers the man who is far too young to be this weary. An upwelling of tender feeling flows through him, one stronger than his lingering fears. He places a soft kiss on Jason’s brow.

They’d survived the first full moon, yet Dick doesn’t quite feel relieved. There are still so many more firsts in Jason’s cursed life.

* * *

 

The story of Jason Todd is remarkably simple.

He was a boy born into nothing. He deserved a life filled with love, opportunities but circumstance took him down a path of neglect so twisted, he could never find them in his life. The only thing he had was a stubborn will that urged him to hold on. 

When fortune placed Jason in the path of Bruce Wayne, he held on.

When the small family reached out to Jason over and over again, despite his rebuffs, opening their hearts and minds to include him, he gave in and held on to hope.

When Jason lay on the ground, blood pooling from his gut, he held on to life.

When Jason came back cursed with running blood, haunted by visions of a past, fueled by a seemingly unstoppable rage, he held on to his sanity.                                                                                         

Hold on. It all seems so simple.

Jason told this to Dick shortly after his return, the rambling apology of his life winding down to the moment when he saw Dick in the midst of his rescue, fell into his embrace, felt the tears slide down his throat and held on to  _ him _ .

“I’m sorry,” he said later, when they realized the overwhelming joy and relief they shared had turned into a bond. “I’m so fucking sorry, Dick. I didn’t think we’d end up like  _ this _ .”

This. Like this. About this. It’s shorthand for this situation they’re in, this relationship they have, this need they share. Dick can separate his life into before and after  _ this _ .

Before Jason’s disappearance, before  _ this _ , he was Dick Grayson, son and soldier in a battle to secure safety for shifters and humans alike.

After Jason’s return, after  _ this _ , he’s defined as son and brother, officer and soldier, and above all these things, Jason’s.


	2. Chapter 2

“You’ve reached the personal cellphone of Richard J. Grayson. If you’re interested in in how to leave an idiot in suspense, leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”

On the other end of the line, Jason snickers. It’s a welcome sound after a long day and Dick joins in.

“I knew that was you,” Jason crows. “You’re such a dick, man.”

“Hello to you too, Jay. How’s it going?”

“It goes. I wanted to check and see what time your shift ends.”

“Six o’clock. Same time as always.”

“You say that but how often do you stay late?”

“Eh,” Dick says, unable to deny it. That’s the nature of police work. It never ends. “Finishing up my dailies right now. I’ll be heading out the door as soon as I upload everything.”

“Excellent. I’m at the Papaya Palace.”

“You’re in Bludhaven?” Dick asks the question even though Jason’s mention of their favorite Thai restaurant makes it clear. He feels the side of his mouth tick up in a smile.

“Figured we can do dinner at your place tonight, on me.” There’s a pause, a shuffle of sound that Dick can’t quite recognize. “If you want to.”

“Of course I want to.”

“Good. Great.” A deep exhale like Jason’s relieved. “Drunken noodles and an order of fried dumplings, right?”

“Right. Uh.” Dick pauses to click through more selections on the spell check. “A drink.”

“Thai sweet tea?”

“You know me so well, little wing.” He listens as Jason relays his order to the cashier, the polite little banter between them.

“What’s wrong with you?” A curious voice asked

Dick looks up and finds his shift sergeant, Rudolph P. Blake’s wall like physique towering above him. “Sir?”

“No one should look that happy doing reports.” The sergeant glares at him. “Who are you talking to to put that kind of look on your face?”

“Yeah, Dick,” Jason chimes in his ear, voice low, slyly curious. “Who are you talking to?”

“My. I’m talking to.” Dick licks his lips. He can feel Jason’s grin through the phone. Its warmth a tangible heat on his skin. “My. This is my dinner date.”

“The pretty boy has a dinner date.” Blake laughs, a rolling brassy sound, before heading towards the next desk in his evening rounds. “Better get those reports in before the next call or you’ll be breaking another heart.”

“Saving now, sir,” Dick says, before uploading his daily activity into the computer system. The tracker turns green and he’s free. Dick stands, pulling a jacket from the back of the chair and heads for the locker room to collect his things. “You still there?” he says into the phone.

“Yeah,” Jason says, voice sounding strangely subdued like the breath had been knocked out of him. “Order’s in. I’ll be over in a half hour.”

“Great! I’m grabbing my things and will head out.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m seriously about to leave right now.”

“I get it. See you at your place.” Jason hangs up before Dick could figure out how to bring that spark back into the conversation.

He’s not sure what stopped them this time, him or Jason, but that’s how this whole thing seems to go--fits and starts, a pause too long. Dick grips the back of his neck and squeezes until some of the tension works loose. He’s almost to the door when he hears Blake’s boisterous voice call his name.

“Step into my office right quick, Grayson!”

Dick sighs. Almost made it. He jogs backwards a few steps, accepting a few apologetic grins from his co-workers with a shrug. It's part of being a member of the force.

He raps on the doorframe to the office before entering. “You bellowed,” he says, skipping over the threshold. He had to play it cool with Blake. If he looked like he was in a hurry, the sergeant would trap him in a lengthy conversation on principle.

“The door, please.” Blake says, turning in his seat. He makes a production of pulling a file from the corner of his desk. “I’ve heard some rumors from on high.”

Dick relaxes into the seat with a sigh. It’s going to be one of those meeting then. “What are they saying now?”

Blake gauges his expression carefully, although Dick doesn’t bother to hide his eye roll. “The brass has been saying you’re not taking the detective’s exam. And they are not happy about the decision.” 

“They’re not wrong,” Dick says. “Why is it even their problem? The brass is the one skipping my name on the promotion list.”

“So you’re not going to take the test? What’s that going to prove?”

“I’m not trying to prove anything. I just don’t want to go through it again.” Dick ruffles his hair. “Look, Sarge, I score higher every time, I ace the interview, but I’m still sitting in patrol. It’s third’s time the charm, not fourth.”

Blake leans against the desk and the old wood groans under the pressure leaving Dick with a brief flash of kinship with another object that knows heavy use with no reward. “And some people do it a dozen times before they move up. I’d like to tell you that if you work hard, if you give it your all, you’ll be tapped. It doesn’t always work that way. But giving up isn’t the thing to do, not now.”

“I’m not. I'm not.” Dick falters over the words. Giving up. They’re foreign to him, an anathema. "I'm not a quitter, sir."

“So take the exam again, Grayson. Charm the fuck out of those city representatives. Make them ask the question you’re asking: why isn’t that nice young man a part of the investigative squad?”

“A ‘nice young man?’ I know that’s not what the review board calls me.”

Blake’s laughter is a deep, rolling, and contagious. “Maybe not the entire board, but Councilwoman Waller does. She likes you.”

“Can’t explain that one,” Dick says with a shrug. “She hates my foster dad.”

“Doesn’t seem like it extends to you. Just keep trying, kid. Work your cases as they come. And they will come. You always have a knack for being in the right place at the right time.”

“That’s just another way of saying trouble follows me,” Dick says dryly.

“It’s not like you can deny it. So practice patience. And study up.” Blake drops the packet at the edge of his desk. Dick takes it before leaving the office, something they both knew he would do. 

 

* * *

 

Dick thinks about the conversation on the drive home, up the five flights of stairs to his apartment, and then in the shower. It’s possible he came across a little too jaded, a little too embittered, especially when he knows Blake offered good advice. But Dick’s never been one for jumping simply to stroke an old man’s ego, especially not the veteran officers on the promotion board. He’s more than paid his dues as a patrolman and didn't feel like he needed to be made an example to suit an agenda. He works hard. He's become the bridge between the community and the department like they needed. And he gives his all every day. It's not like Dick doesn't want to be a detective anymore. He just needs a break from the disappointment that's all.

His dinner date arrives a few minutes after Dick tosses his towels into the machine. He glances around at the state of his apartment and winces. He probably should’ve tidied up a bit. It's pressing enough that he offers excuses the second Jason walks in and frowns.

“You don’t come over too often,” Dick says, closing the door behind Jason and following him into the small apartment. “And I don’t have a lot of company, so. Excuse the mess.”

“You say that every time, Dickie, and this place never looks any better. I predict a Zesti can pyramid by the recycling, balled up socks under the couch pillows and.” Jason turns around and gives Dick a playful once over. “Wet towel on the bathroom floor.”

“Hey smart guy, the wet towels just went into the machine,” Dick says, snatching the food from him. “So you don’t know everything.”

“Not everything,” admits Jason, following Dick into the living room. “Just you.”

It’s not quite the disaster Jason described, but the room is rather cluttered. Dick’s monthly magazines sprawl over the coffee table and he has a small collection of cups on the side table. They all held water in various stages of the evaporation process. Jason sets down their drinks and immediately begins transferring Dick’s laundry from the couch to the recliner.

“You don’t have to do that,” Dick says, snatching his briefs from Jason’s hands.

Jason raises an eyebrow. “Do you know where the remote is?” He waits as Dick glances around before shrugging. “Then yeah, I do.”

They settle onto the couch eventually, the sequel of Dick’s favorite thriller building on the tv screen as they steal bites from each other’s meals. Jason keeps the conversation light and Dick can’t find it in him to mind the chatter while the movie plays. He’s seen this one six times anyway.

“Hey! How did it go with Cass and Dami?” Dick asks, referring to Jason’s text about a possible run with the two shifters. Until recently, Jason had declined most invitation to run with the pack, and with good reason. It had taken him days to transform in the beginning and nearly a week to return to his human form. At one point, the pack harbored a real fear of Jason not coming back. Still, Dick was holding some concerns about Jason continuing to adapt to his new nature.

“Mm.” Jason swallows a bite of his rice. “Real good. My shifts are much easier after the full moon. You know how before it’d take me almost an hour to become the wolf?” And nearly a day to return to his human state. Jason had spent many weeks learning to control what came instinctively to natural shifters. “Now it’s only taking ten minutes both ways.” Jason grins down at him. “You can stop worrying.”

“Who’s worried?”

Jason points his chopsticks at Dick before reaching over to snag a fat shrimp from his noodles. “You.”

“I’m not.” Dick stops, eyeing him. Jason drops the shrimp and ducks his head like a caught puppy. “You sound really sure of yourself right now, which means you’re using the nose. Stop it.”

“Sorry,” Jason mumbles, abashed. “I just. You’re kind of right here, you know.”

“I know, Jay. I’m in my apartment. It wouldn’t make sense for me to just up and leave when I want privacy in my own place.” It’s fair to say he’s never anticipated any part of a shifter bond, but having so few walls between himself and another person takes its toll. And that just makes Dick feel annoyed and guilty.

Beside him Jason stills. “Yeah. I guess. I'm sorry."His chopsticks stab into the rice a few times before Jaon sets the carton down. “Be right back," he says, before springing over the back of the couch. The bathroom door shuts moments later leaving Dick with his thoughts which spiral between his conversation at the station and the encroaching guilt.

He falls back against the couch with a huff. His frustration simmers in his gut. Belatedly, he remembers to curb those feelings. He’s already snapped at Jason. The least he can do is ensure the shifter doesn’t feel it too. Even though he’s already scented it.

Jason returns a few minutes later, flushed and oddly stiff at the far end of the couch, and the movie resumes this time without much commentary. Dick is too consumed by his own thoughts. The conversation with his sergeant circles around these paths like a ship caught in a whirlpool.

Wait. Be patient. In due time.  Dick has heard those phrases from the BPD one too many times. He’s been a member of the force for nearly three years. His clearance rate and evaluations are consistently high. His last rotation into detectives resulted in in Dick assisting in the investigation and arrest of a large-scale burglary ring. There’s not much he more can do to prove that he’s ready. It’s not as if a new investigative case is going to fall into his lap.

In the privacy of his own mind Dick will admit that he's thought about doing more than taking a break from the detective exam. A part of him knows that he'd accomplish real and immediate change if he returned home, if he took up a more active role with Bruce's organization. On the long days, when the system seems jammed against anyone who stands to serve and protect the people, when the mire of corruption tries to seep through his cracks, Dick thinks about it. Then he remembers he's not a quitter. There are far too many people in the fringes who can use someone on their side, someone who believes in truth and justice for all, like the shifters.

And that leads his thoughts spiraling to Jason.

Shifters exist in one of two forms. The wolf and the human. There is no in-between state, but that doesn’t mean traits didn’t bleed between them. The wolf retains a layer of human sentience, although the presence and impact varies from shifter to shifter. Some shifters retained a small fraction of their supernatural strength or reflexes in their human form as well. Others, like Jason, retained heightened senses, like hearing, smell, touch.

Being the focus of a full range of Jason’s attention could be too much at times. He can’t hide anything. He can’t have secrets. At any given time, Jason has full knowledge of Dick’s emotions and thoughts. Neither of them are ready for that kind of intimacy. Hell, Dick can’t even talk about this to Jason. Once the thought enters his head, Dick realizes that he wants to though. He wants to do a little more than ask about Jason’s day. He's just not sure how when the memories of their explosive blow ups at the beginning of their bond loom in his mind.

The movie’s mindless action seems pale. Even the bubble tea tastes bland. He sighs, the fourth time in the span of fifteen minutes.

“Look, it’s getting late so.” Jason stands stretching. “I’m just going to toss my trash and head out. That okay?”

Dick looks at the clock then at Jason surprised. It’s barely nine. Jason usually stays until ten. It’s on the tip of Dick’s tongue to coax him into staying longer, but it’s been a long day, really, and he’s riding two-man with his partner tomorrow. “Yeah, it’s fine. Doing a double tomorrow. Saves me from being an evil host and kicking you out.”

“Cool.” Jason gathers his containers and takes them to the kitchen. Dick meets him at the door.

“So goodnight, yeah? Sorry I got all quiet. Just have a lot on my mind.” Dick offers him a quick smile. “Text me when you get home.”

Jason slumps between the door and the frame. “Before I go, I just want to say that I pissed you off.” Jason looks down at him with his wide, earnest eyes. "I'm sorry." 

“You didn’t.”

“Yeah. I did. I didn’t mean to, so just.” Jason’s eyes cut right as he considers his next words. “Just don’t give up on me, okay?”

“Of course not." Dick shifts on his feet. "And look. Honesty, right? I know that I’m just going to be broadcasting all kinds of signals at you with the whole scent thing. There’s nothing I can do about that. I just don't want you to, I don't know. Use it against me. Got any ideas on how we can work on that?”

“Don’t use silicon,” Jason mutters, a light flush fanning across his cheeks. “Shifters scent that a mile away.”

“Anyway,” Dick continues when Jason refuses to explain his comment, “I just don’t want you to use scent and ignore everything else I have to say. Listen to what I say, pay attention to what I do, not. Not how I smell.” It sounds silly put in those exact words, but Jason nods solemnly.

“I will.”

He does manage to give Jason a quick hug before sending him out the door. Dick feels restless after their visit and begins a half-hearted tidying fest. He starts in the kitchen, separating his recycling and putting the dishes in the washer. He hits the lone bathroom next, using an old rag, he wipes down the pooling water around the sink, then turns to the shower. The curtain is open and Dick freezes, mortified at the sight of his eight inch silicon toy suctioned to the tile. Of course it is. He thinks back to Jason's flush and the way he could barely meet Dick's eyes when he left. For all their talk, this is one subject they're pretty quiet on, and Dick can rightly say they're both responsible for it. It's like an unwitting tango between them, neither quite sure how to lead or even which direction to go, their bond the dance and Jason's rut a tempo change Dick both anticipates and dreads.

He scrubs his hair back from his forehead and sighs. “Today was a total nightmare,” he complains to no one at all. His apartment is empty now and the light seems to have dimmed now that Jason's gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The gentle pressure of friends has sped up my posting schedule for this week only! My plan is to update once I finish the next chapter.

The call goes over the police band during a rousing game of “I Spy” between Dick and his partner, Demont Bains. Officers at the scene of a suspicious incident are requesting additional units a couple miles from their current location.

Dick tilts the microphone to his mouth. “B537 are in the area. En route.”

The radio dispatcher acknowledges. “10-4. B537 en route to 3315 Industrial Drive in response to officer’s requesting additional units.”

The patrol car rolls into the abandoned lot of the old technology complex. Two officers stand next to their police vehicle. Dick recognizes both Palladio and Cole from a training course he’d recently attended. Cole rests a casual hand on Palladio’s shoulder. Their skin looks ashen, their eyes worried. There’s a puddle of fresh puke wetting the grassy area just outside the door. No one mentions it.

After greeting Dick and his partner, the officers give an abbreviated account of events: they had been assigned a follow up response to complaints of an unmarked van coming in and out of the gates. The gates had been locked tightly. It had taken half of their morning, but they were finally able to track down someone within the building’s management company to come down allow them to access the premises. After walking the perimeter, Palladio and Cole found the back door to the vehicle bay had been unlocked and entered the building through those doors. They made an initial sweep of the front warehouse, but came back out decided to call for backup after hitting the first hallway.

“Fire is on the way, but we still need to secure the scene,” says Cole. “It smells bad in there. Real bad.”

“We’ve got you covered,” says Dick. He pops the trunk and pulls out his box of surgical masks. He has a feeling about what’s waiting for them, and it's not at all good.

The officers set out in their small team of twos. Palladio and Cole will go right from the door, Dick and Bains to the left. Cole radios in their intent, “Officer’s entering 3315 Industrial Drive,” and they push into the building.

It looks no different than any of the abandoned warehouses on this side of town. Dust and grime coat the long windows evenly spaced near the roof. The floors are mostly bare. The concrete pillars and walls are tagged with fresh graffiti. But for the growing scent of rot filling the air, it seems rather normal for an unoccupied building.

They clear the first two rooms, warehouse and front office, before returning to the long corridor leading into the building’s core. Dick adjusts his grip on his gun and flashlight as the officer’s walk through the hallways. It’s hotter here, a clogging dampness settles over them the deeper they wander. The smell intensifies as the continue down the corridor. It’s wet, heavy and oddly sweet. Palladio leans against the wall just ahead of him and gags.

“Breathe through your mouth,” Dick offers quietly before passing him. That’s when he sees a fly rounding drunkenly against the ceiling. He nudges Bains who winces.

“This is going to be bad,” he whispers.

“Maybe we should’ve let someone else take the call,” says Bains. HIs voice is light enough to ease some of the tension, but his dark eyes are grim.

“Checking in,” says Cole, who sends an update over the radio channel. Officers cleared main entrance and first corridor. They’re moving further into the building.

The next corridor breaks into a series of hallways between six laboratories. Each of the rooms is long and white with a wide observational window that allows them to peer inside. The labs have the same rectangular design of black lab tables and empty shelves. Turning left at the next corner finds the officer’s facing another set of labs. Dick can count the flies moving fat and lazy above them.

They find the first body inside a narrow room filled with shelves latched to a security gate.

“It’s a shifter,” says Bains, needlessly. Despite showing signs of decomposition, the shape of the body is clearly that of a young, male, white who apparently died mid-shift. His hands are elongated, his limbs hyper-distended and a ruff of fur spreads down from chin to chest. His wrists are tied with steel chains. Dick has to look away once unable to bear that face frozen in terror. He strokes the bond in his chest without thinking, the tight knot in his chest warms faintly reminding Dick that he’s not alone, and, more importantly, Jason is safe.

“We still need to check the other hallway,” he says, instantly regretting those words the second their light beams down the final hall. Shadows bounce along the walls fooling Dick’s periphery vision. There’s nothing there but it feels like something is waiting, hovering just beyond the darkness. The scent of wet death intensifies.

It’s much worse than Dick imagined. He surveys the room with a hard eye with a horrified tally running in the back of his mind. Thirty kennels fill the room. Seven bodies lie curled within them. Their fingers curl through the wire fence hardened by rigor mortis; their faces bely their terrible agony. One lone wolf lays curled unmoving in the far cage head curled under its paw.

“Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking _Christ_ ,” Palladio mutters a confused litany that does not stop. He stumbles out the door, gagging behind his hand. Dick and Bains share a glance and the silent communication transpires. Bains follows behind to escort Palladio back to the entrance.

“We’re gonna need a bus,” says Cole, shining his flashlight into the kennels.

“Detectives and forensics,” adds Dick. He nods towards the back of the room. “What about that door in the corner.”

“Leave it for the crime scene experts.”

“We need to know what else is here.” Dick needs to know what else is here, because something like this should never happen. He’s to ensure that this will never happen again.

“There’s no survivors here, Grayson, we both know it,” says Cole. “But I’m not going to stop you.”

“Fair enough.” Dick adjusts his grip on the flashlight and gun. “Ready.”

"Hold up. Let me check in first.” Cole clicks the tiny microphone attached to his collar. “No signal,” he says.

“Go up with them and make the call,” says Dick. “I’ll standby.”

Cole glances around the room. “It’s on you. I’ll be back.” He walks out of the room without a backward glance.

Dick waits until the footsteps recedes before pulling on a pair of rubber gloves from his back pocket. It’s only a small window of time and he has much to do. He enters the room and begins a search.

Despite Dick’s experiences both as an officer and his time before, the things he’s seen, Dick has to will the trembling from his hands. Some of these shifters are just so young, barely into adulthood. He takes several pictures of them, faces, teeth, prints quickly before moving to the next. On the omohyoid muscle he finds needle marks and a blue tattoo less than two inches in diameter.

Although there appear to be some humans, the majority of the victims are shifters. Their golden ringed eyes stare at him dully, lifeless. Number eleven has a medical tag around her wrist--Cordelia Graves. Possibly the first identified victim.

He pushes through and completes the process on the next victims. There’s still one more body for him to look. Dick hustles back to the passage to the first body, the one that looks so hauntingly familiar. He can’t get through the gate, but he’s able to close in with the camera. He has just enough time to make it back to the last room, the one in the back with the white door and the brass door handle. It’s not locked. Inside he finds scraps of a recording system. There are wires and a stripped hard drive. He pockets it for later.

Footsteps echo down the hall. Dick’s back in position waiting when Cole returns.

“Find anything?”

“Broken recording equipment. What about you?”

“Fire is on scene. Unmarks are posting at the entrance of the technology park.” Cole nods toward the door. “We’ve got another set of marked units on the way. Scene is secure.”

Dick nods. “Let’s clear this last room and then give them the tour.”

 

* * *

 

Tension and focus permeates through the police station. Within an hour, the press has released reports regarding the new investigation complete with some of the more gruesome aspects hinted. The breaking news fashion mixed fact and rumor feeding public horror and paranoia with its suppositions and unconfirmed confirmations. Every three minutes there’s a horrified revelation about the case coming from the patrol room’s television.

No one knows who talked to the press, how the story has been so thoroughly leaked in such a short time. Dick forces himself to ignore the newscaster and the suspicious gazes that slide over him while he waits on word from his supervisors.

There’s been another bout of waiting today. He and the initial units remained at the facility for hours standing by until the next shift arrived. There are still dozens of the force there shifting through the warehouse and laboratory of information, explanations.

Arriving back at the precinct placed Dick into a long debriefing and three meetings centered on the day’s events. It’s the way of a patrolman to be the first on the scene and the first ordered to step aside. The detectives have been placed in charge of the investigation, and after the way the last meeting went, their authority may soon be challenged by the state’s investigation team. For now, Dick concentrates on putting together his report and researching the building’s history as part of his own investigation.

Dick starts collecting information about Phenotech, the company previously inhabiting the building. According to some press releases and a now defunct website, Phenotech is, or perhaps was, a failed research startup that wanted to launch a shifter genome project. At one time, the company had employed several experts in the life sciences, including Dr. Hugo Strange, former biopsychologist currently employed by Temple Dynamics, another research facility noted for its work with shifters. This leads Dick to scan through Strange’s academic work, which in turn leads Dick to reading a mix of popular and scientific articles about genetics. Another hour down the rabbit hole and Dick turns his search back to the building. It’s much less of a headache. He picks out more names associated with Phenotech, work histories, where they might be now.

It’s a long line of possibilities, but they’re more than anything he’s found in the preliminary case files. Dick packages the file along with his own findings and sends a secured copy to a secure site accessible to Bruce. He closes out his report with a sigh. In the back of his mind is an image of a young man, pale and bleeding, sluggishly beating against thick metal bars, only this time, he wasn’t found. Dick banishes the thought.

He receives a text halfway through the final meeting of the day. Two words from Bruce, short, innocuous, _thank you_ , but he feels it deeply.

They will put a stop to this, whatever it is, one way or another.

“Grayson!”

Dick turns in his seat to find the desk sergeant accompanied by a tall woman with thick, graying hair twisted and pinned neatly to hear head. He stands immediately, offering her a polite smile. “How can I help you, sir?”

“Mrs. Trenton, this is Officer Grayson, a member of the newly assigned task force investigating this crime. He will assist you by taking your statement as well as reopening communications between yourself and the missing person’s team.” The sergeant’s voice is modulated down, soothing without the brash loudness usually heard from his booming voice. There have been several people walking into the precinct with questions or information about the case. This is the first person Dick has seen make it past the front lines of patrolmen and clerics taking provisional statements. As with most sources, the information gleaned from today’s visitors has ranged from possibly useful to fringe.

“If you could please take a seat,” Dick points to the wooden chair next to his desk.

“I’ll leave you in Officer Grayson’s capable hands,” says the sergeant before scuttling away. Mrs. Trenton takes a seat, pulling a somber blue handbag into her lap. She stares at him, dark eyes filled with skepticism.

“Young man, I have one question for you,” she begins, “Will _you_ be able to help me?”

It's not the first time he's greeted a grieving member of the public who seemed so abrasive before speaking to him. Dick meets her gaze and nods. “I will. To the best of my ability.”

“I guess that will have to do.” Mrs. Trenton unfolds her hands placing them on the edge of the desk. “I’m here about my sister. She's been missing. When I heard about this incident out at the industrial park, I knew I had to come talk to someone.

“How did you hear about the--”

“The same way everyone else in Bludhaven did. The news. The second those reporters started talking I knew. Every family who has someone missing knew, and we all came here looking for answers. We want the truth.” She sighs tiredly. “But I’ve been at this long enough to know the truth isn’t always on your agenda.”

She could be referencing many things. The wave of hiring and firings that happened after corruption charges were leveled by the state bureau of investigation before Dick joined the force. It could be the ticket-fixing or even the intimidation charges leveled by several civil action groups two years ago. Or she could be remembering the distant past, the protests when the urban housing department closed three development complexes before a fourth mysteriously burned down. The shifter riots, the summer of '72 when the powder keg of the city blew. There has been so much gone wrong with the city's public safety that Dick can understand her reluctance. But it goes deeper, more personal. There's a weariness about her, the same heavy air that sits on the shoulders of families with open cases. Tired in the face of a seemingly uncaring process, too afraid to give up hope. Dick isn't one to give false comfort, but he is someone to stand at her side.

“Mrs. Trenton,” Dick says, catching her eye. “I won’t make excuses about what has happened before, but I will tell you that you have me in your corner now.”

“You’ll make the difference?” She asks, skepticism warring with hope.

“I will try,” he says, voice earnest.

“To the best of your ability,” she repeats. She looks away at the papers on his desk, the shuffling crowd of people at the intake desk, the chaos of patrolmen and detectives stalking across the bullpen. “Alright, Officer Grayson. I’m going to need you to tell me the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. What do you need from me?”

“I need your sister’s name,” Dick says, taking out his patrol book.

“Veronica Lucas, black female, 28 years old. She’s been missing for nearly nine months.” She rattles off the description with resigned practiced. Her hand shakes when it goes into her purse and pulls out a picture. Not printed on paper, not a digital moment captured forever on her phone, but a framed photograph of three women on a porch smiling. “This is me and my sister at our grandmother’s birthday party two years ago. Veronica is the one on the left.”

“It’s a beautiful picture." Dick takes the photo from her. The family resemblance is remarkable, the bright smiles and glowing skin to the shape of each woman’s face.

“I know. She is a beautiful person. Put the joy into any moment,” Mrs. Trenton says, tears in her eyes. “We just need to know what happened to her. So please.”

“I understand, but Mrs. Trenton, the scene technicians haven’t cleared the scene yet. That means that we haven’t even attempted to make identifications yet.” He stops. “But I will be the one to contact you the moment we’re able.”

She stares at him, straight through him, and even then Dick’s unsure what it is she’s searching for. Eventually Mrs. Trenton nods. “Alright, Mr. Officer. I’m going to hold you to it.”

“Okay. I’m going to make a copy of this picture for the crime lab, and I’m going to pull her file. But before I do that, I’d like to ask you some questions. Can you tell me,” he begins once Mrs. Lucas agrees, “if Veronica was a registered shifter?”

“What do you mean?” She asks. “Veronica isn’t a shifter. I am.”

Dick looks up from his notebook to find Mrs. Lucas staring at him, gold rings around her eyes. "Maybe you should start from the beginning." 

 

* * *

 

Dick returns to the manor despite spending the grueling day in Bludhaven.

He tells himself it’s because Damian and Cass greet him with such enthusiasm, bumping and tugging him through the kitchen door.

He tells himself it’s because no one makes a better 1am chicken pesto wrap than Alfred, who slides a plate into his hands between one blink and the next.

He tells himself it’s because Bruce joins in their conversation from his leather chair looking worried but also pleased to have his son home. But Dick knows they are a small part of his return.

Jason slides onto the cushion besides Dick, shirtless, fuzzy-eyed and warm with sleep. “Can I?” he whispers over the shell of Dick’s ear.

The flicker in Jason’s eyes, the way he slumps over Dick’s knee and tugs Dick’s hand into his tousled hair. The way he wraps long fingers around Dick’s ankle and sighs contentedly. The way Jason lays alive beside him. These are the reasons he comes back.

Jason reminds Dick of an overgrown pup, lazy and warm against Dick’s body. He brushes Jason’s hair away from his face, around his ears, then scruffs it up again. The body he’s coming to know is so different than the one he remembers. The freckles are fading across Jason’s wide shoulders and there’s a scar at the corner of his mouth. Time and the bite has added a lean, ruggedness to Jason, broadening him along his chest and thighs and narrowing him in places like his waist, wrists, cheek. He looks like a man now, _is_ a man. It feels good to touch him. It feels right to be near him.

Dick settles into the couch with a sigh and wills the horrors of the day to dissipate at least for a little while.

His family is in the middle of a movie, some dramedy centered around a funeral and a wedding. It draws so heavily from Shakespeare that Dick could probably recite the script verbatim, but it’s pleasant. Being here, laughing a little, warm with Jason’s body so solid over his, it’s a good thing.

A question floats through his head. It’s the same one that’s plagued him since this happened, their bond: _would he feel this connection to Jason without it?_ Would the laws of attraction have drawn them together, like to like? While it’s possible, he will never know the answer. Dick concentrates, as he does when his thoughts travel down this past, one what he does know. Jason is a good looking man with a strong, hard body that is always so near his own. Perhaps it won’t be so bad having Jason moving against him, inside him, looking down at him with those strange eyes that promise everything he has to give. The idea settles into his gut, a dull pulse that has him shifting in his seat.

Jason inhales expansively before sitting up. He stretches his arm across Dick’s body and leans close. His eyes glow in the near dark as they search Dick’s face. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing really,” Dick replies, too embarrassed to say _you._ “Just that I should probably get going.”

“Stay with me tonight,” he says, a statement rather than a request.

Dick covers his surprise by yawning. As he casts about for something to say, some excuse, he notices they are alone. “What time is it?”

“Almost three,” says Jason. “Everyone else has gone to bed. It’ll be going on five before you make it back to your place. Come on.” He stands waiting for Dick to follow. It’s on the tip of his tongue to turn Jason down, to say he’s thinking about going back to his own home and his own bed, but there’s a quickening in his chest when Jason extends his hand.

“Okay,” he says, letting Jason pull him to his feet. They hold hands all the way down the hall and up the stairs.

It’s the second time in as many weeks that Dick has been in this bedroom. Certainly more times than when he and Jason lived at the manor together. It’s in more of a disarray than he’s used to. A pair of jeans and a shirt lay at on the floor. The sheets are bunched at the foot of the bed.  

“I get hot very easily now,” Jason explains and pulls the bedding back in place. He climbs in and makes a show of poofing the pillows, but Dick can feel his gaze roaming over his body as he undresses. They sends a shiver down his skin, Jason’s eyes, how they always seem to hunger, how they devoured him from the outside in. He takes his time, folding his shirt and slacks over the back of the chair before turning back to the bed. Jason’s propped up with his hands behind his head.

The bed dips gently when he climbs up and settles. Or tries to settle. He can’t seem to get comfortable. The bed is really hot. Jason is really hot. He flips the pillow to the cool side and winds the sheet around his ankle, exposing his knee to the chilly air. Jason nudges him after the third time he adjusts his pillows. The small touch stings like static.

“Relax will you? It’s not like I’m going to b--” Jason stops short. “It’s not tonight. I just want to sleep, you know?”

“I know,” says Dick. “Really, I do.” He holds eye contact with Jason willing him to believe. Jason ducks under his chin and runs his cheek along the column of Dick’s throat. He presses his lips against the steady vein breathing. Dick touches his shoulder, unsure if he wants to push Jason away or pull him closer into this strange embrace.

“You should tell me what happened today.” Jason’s lips whisper against his skin. “It might help.”

Dick blinks a couple times wondering when Jason started reading his mind. “You want to hear about my day?”

“I want to know what it is you sent B. He rushed down to the cave after getting your message. Wouldn’t let us come within a foot of him until dinner.”

“I thought you hated talking about Bruce’s second job.” They’re always so coy about it. Bruce’s second job, his hobby, his vendetta. But working for shifter reform through charitable actions and the slow wheels of justice can only take you so far when the stigma still clouds the issue.

Jason shrugs against him. “I do. But this is me listening. I can do that for you, you know? It could help.”

It’s hard to see how such a thoughtful request wouldn’t help. Dick rests his hands on Jason’s broad shoulders while he gathers his thoughts about the incident. The horrific tableau has jittered in the corner of his mind for most of the evening, and they come easily.

“There was a call. Suspicious activity at the medical facility at the old research park. The building has been scheduled for demolition but there was an unmarked van seen coming and going in the night. So.” Dick trails off. “My partner and I were backup. We went through the building and. It was pretty bad.”

“Pretty bad?”

“There were eight victims,” Dick whispers.

“Shifters?”

Dick nods.

“Was it like me.”

“No.” It had been nothing like finding Jason chained to the wall, muzzled, and _alive_. “There were no survivors. I searched everywhere but. I sent what I could to Bruce. We’ll find whoever did this. We’ll stop them.”

“We will.” Jason shifts his weight and it feels good, the way their bodies twined together. “If it wasn’t like me, what’s got you so tense?”

Dick closes his eyes and nods again focusing on his breath, on being pressed down and held close. On the fact that Jason is above him, warm and alive.

“Did you see something like me in there?” Jason reasons slowly and it’s close enough to true. Dick did see a version of Jason in the bodies carried from the warehouse but also those of Damian, Cass, Bruce, the Foxes, his _family_. Dick nods jerkily feeling that tiny, whispering fear determined to rise from him.

“Sometimes it hits a little close to home,” he whispers.

Jason nuzzles against him. “I know. But we’re here. I’m here with you.”

Dick wraps his arms around Jason and pulls until they’re flat against each other, Jason’s heart beating against his chest. Jason nuzzles at his cheek and throat. The shallow wash of Jason’s breath rushes over him. It feels good. Right.

“You feel better now,” Jason says, sounding relieved.

Strangely enough, despite the topic and brevity of their conversation, he does feel better. Is it Jason’s presence or simply verbalizing the sickness lingering within him that brings him comfort? Dick is unsure but grateful all the same. “A little. But it’s enough, little wing." He curls fingers beneath Jason’s chin tilting his face up to meet Jason’s gaze, lazy warm waters surrounded by a golden glow. He strokes a thumb across his cheek. “Thank you.”

“Right. Cool. No problem.” Jason whispers, dipping closer until their foreheads press gently together breath tickling across his lips. He pulls back abrputly. “Uh. If that’s it then. Good night,” says Jason . He rolls onto his side, fitting an arm beneath the pillow.

“Good night,” says Dick, rather stupidly. He lies in the dark tense, waiting, but Jason doesn’t move again.

He goes to sleep thinking of Jason, and he when he opens his eyes, Jason is there on his pillow, mouth soft with sleep, fingers resting across Dick’s wrist. It’s the lightest pressure but it burns like a brand, ties him down like silk. It gets to be too much sometimes, what Jason needs from him, _wants_ from him. Dick leaves the manor when the feeling is strong.

The problem is, he never goes far. He can’t stay away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic warnings come into play in this chapter. Please pay attention.

Bruce identifies the warehouse victims within hours of receiving the information. Several had been reported as missing in Gotham City and the rest were matched using facial recognition. Their faces stare down from the massive computer screens in the underground lair. Pictures flash across the far-right screen providing visual representations of the data aggregated by Dick’s analytics program. Pulling from a network of social media, bank records, EHR, work and criminal histories, and GPS data, they’re able to cluster the massive information, refine it, and even map it in increasingly complex overlays designed to link the victims.

Careful search of their medical history reveals that each of the five victims were quarter shifters, carrying the gene but not actually able to achieve transformation. It’s their first lead, and Dick pursues it searching for more ways to connect them further.

Dick slides two images onto the screen. The first is Cordelia Graves, 41-year-old white female posing in front of the Grand Canyon. She was first identified from the medical bracelet found on her wrist. The next is Robert Asher, 28-year-old white male smiling at a concert. The pictures stand in sharp contrast to his memories, faces vibrant and unafraid instead of the rictus of pain marking their final moments. Two points light up between the images, a bright line spidering across the screen.

“Bingo,” says Dick. “But how does she relate to Asher?”

“Asher is a Gotham native recently returned after resigning from Collective. Not nearly as sinister as it sounds,” says Bruce, reading through the text scrolling across his screen. “It’s a marketing firm in Boston."

“Graves was a patient at Hudson-Smythe Cancer Center,” Dick says, referring to Hudson University’s research hospital in Gotham. “It looks like the Collective managed a fundraising campaign for the center four years ago.”

“When?”

“The campaign ran from April 5 to May 10. How long is the typical planning phase for this kind of thing.”

Bruce frowns as he reads the stream. “No more than six months. We can project the kickoff October of last year. Asher’s travel records show no movement through Gotham between then and May. And four years is outside the estimated timeline. Hudson-Smythe is not the link."

Dick glances at another screen where a twisting DNA helix cracks apart in an endless loop. Highlighted within the oscillating pattern is the mutation that frustrated science, the abnormal gene that belonged to shifters alone. “Maybe not but it is relevant,” he says. “Finding shifter variations would be easier to do in a medical facility like HSCC. Their testing will locate genetic markers for the L2 gene much faster than your average clinic. It'd be worth the risk.”

Bruce makes the noncommittal humming noise, the “hmm” that says he’s listening, but not really. It’s probably Dick’s least favorite sound.

“Come on, B,” Dick says. “The medical examiner reported foreign agents in each of the victim's’ bloodstream. Someone is trying to force the change, even though that kind of clinical testing has been band.”

“I read the report,” says Bruce. “And I doubt the minds behind such experiments care. This is the same so-called ‘applied research’ we experienced before the Kitteritch-Schumaker Act.” Bruce’s voice takes on the same hoarse tones as he does when speaking of his parents. Generations of suffering and hope brought the Kitteritch-Schumaker Act to fruition. The bill acknowledges shifters humanity and provides rights under the law. It had been the Wayne families’ most public work as political activists and their final. Thirty years later their son continues their work from the shadows. “And it’s possible there’s been some breakthroughs. From what we’ve seen here, one victim classified as non-shifter had indeed begun the change.

“Martin Alvez,” Bruce continues, enlarging two pictures on the screen. The first is a lanky boy with a handsome smile. “Puerto Rican male, six foot, 164 pounds, juvenile record. Entered into foster care at age twelve until he was emancipated by the state at eighteen. Made his home in the shifter community inside Park Row.” The further along the list Bruce goes, the tighter Dick’s stomach clenches. The similarities are too close to deny.

“He carries the shifter gene,” acknowledges Dick, “But he has no connection to anyone on the victims list.” He glances at the second picture beneath Alvez’s name. It’s haunted Dick’s sleep for days now, a boy twisted in the rictus of a painful shift one that shouldn’t have been possible. Like the others, Alvez wasn't a shifter. He only carried the gene. Like Jason.

“I’m pursuing another angle to see if there are any links to place Alvez closer to home.” Bruce glances at him from the corner of his eye.

Dick nods, fingers already moving across the keyboard. “I’m going to select another victim for the search. See if HSCC pops again.”

He pulls the next name at random. Emilia Fortier, age 38, black female, Gotham City resident for nearly 14 years, originally from Louisiana. The most recent picture shows Emilia posing with a medal from a local half marathon for charity. Her smile is tired but triumphant.

Two points of light flare minutes after the new search begins.

“Fortier and Asher both visited Gotham’s Center for Reproductive Health last February. Let’s look them up.” Dick pulls up the center’s website on another screen. It opens with a slideshow of a bright-eyed newborn, a modern office with friendly staff, blue skies, and fruit. Evocative white text floats above the images, offering new patients safe and healthy hope for the future. The center proudly advertises their infertility experts and shifter reproduction experts. Dick stares at the phrasing.

“What about Graves?”

“Nothing between the three of them right now,” says Dick. “Let me try the others.”

A tingle crawls up Dick neck, a slight twist in his gut, an instinct that telling him this is the right track. He’s trusted this kind of feeling before and it’s never steered him in the wrong direction. It takes less than three minutes to validate that feeling. Lights blink across the screen one after another showing a connection. Four of the identified victims visited the fertility clinic within the past 18 month.

“This is it,” he whispers.

“We’ll need to identify the others and see if they’ve also had contact with the clinic,” Bruce cautions. “But this could be a promising lead.”

Dick nods having learned to hold back, to keep a level head and look at the evidence before him rather than running full tilt on gut feeling. Instinct is necessary, important, but it had to be grounded. Regardless, he knows this is the connection. When he looks up he finds Bruce watching him an absent smile touching his handsome mouth.

“What are you thinking?”

“Nothing,” Dick says. “Just think it might be a good idea to try and get some intel on the clinic now. If I found a connection this easily, BPD’s finest won’t be that far behind.”

“Hmmm,” Bruce says, stroking his chin. “Anything else.”

“There’s been something bothering me since we secured the scene. How do you move that many people about without any signs of trafficking?” Dick recalls the security footage pulled from other business along the roadway. Only one vehicle stood out as suspicious, a current model minivan that had pulled into the rear bay of the lab. But that single van could not have housed the fifteen victims, lab equipment, and the people who ran the experiments.

“I’ll focus on transportation. I need you to work the clinic.” Bruce pauses, giving Dick an assessing glance. “If you have the time that is.”

Dick stares at Bruce trying to see beyond the placid mask he’s wearing. “You want me there? I’m there.”

“If you have the time,” repeats Bruce. “It might benefit us to have some intel before the police arrive.”

“I just said that,” Dick mutters. 

“I know but a plan has come to mind between now and then.”

“Then I'll make the time." He pauses. "I’m not going to like this am I?”

“Not one bit,” says Bruce. The tone is all too familiar. Dick kicks back in his cheer and frowns.

“I’m going to hate it.”

 

* * *

 

The Center for Reproductive Health is only two blocks away hidden within a glass tower at the center of Gotham’s labyrinthine medical park. Gotham General’s facilities stretch across a dozen city blocks and in between, several smaller clinics, research hospitals, and specialists have made their home. Dick weaves through the slow-moving traffic, glancing at the mix of building styles. The opposing construction materials of glass, stone, and nature give the area a pleasant, healing vibe. It’s the type of bland aura that Dick sorely needs. His patience is being tested right now.

Jason has fidgeted the entire trip to the clinic and its driving Dick to distraction. He tugs at the seatbelt across his chest, flips through the music selection on Dick’s phone, and when he doesn’t find what he’s looking for, connects his own phone, clicking through songs before they’re halfway finished. He drums his knuckles against the window accompanying the idle sound of rain washing against the car. And between all these acts of unease, Jason stares at Dick, not directly but out the corner of his eyes, through the mirrors. Whatever he sees causes Jason to sigh and he begins all over again.

Six seconds away. That’s how much longer Dick will hold out before his patience blows out the window, and he’s seriously considering sending Jason after it. While the car is moving. Chucking him out into the chilled rain sounded pretty refreshing really.

The silence swims in the vehicle for another run of unfinished songs before Dick decides it has run its course.

“What’s wrong?” Dick finally asks, flushing a little at how sharp his voice sounds, thudding between them like a knife on the board.

Jason’s reflection betrays him with his flushed cheeks and blue eyes spooked wide as if he’s been caught. “Nothing,” he mumbles.

“Come on. We’re almost there. Get it off your chest now so we can go ahead and do this.”

“It’s nothing, really.” Jason slides his jacket zipper up and down. Another nervous tick. Their eyes meet for a split second before Jason turns his head to rest against the window. “You just smell good. Real good.”

The look in Jason’s eyes, Dick feels it like a caress down his spine. In preparation for their intel gathering at the fertility clinic, Dick had painted omega pheromones along his wrists, lower back, and the patch of skin where his scent gland would be located--the areas typically tested during medical examination. Jason’s reaction should have been the least surprising thing about his day, but Dick surprises himself by realizing that he hadn’t even considered Jason’s perspective or discomfort.

Dick covers his own discomfort with a tiny cough. “Oh. Well. I did take a shower today.”

Jason turns away. The tiny move exposes his neck and the deep flush creeping up. “Look, you always smell. Good. Pleasant. But with the pheromones it’s…. Different. Still good but different.

“Does this mean....? Is it _affecting_ you. Do you think you’re going to, you know?”

“No!” Jason begins drumming his knuckles on the car door.

“You sure? Because we’re here,” says Dick, pulling the car into a narrow private parking lot. “No backing out.”

“Oh.” Jason draws the word out softly.

They sit together listening to the swish of the wipers and the rain patter. Jason ducks to peer out of the windshield instead of starting the conversation he clearly needs to have. Dick takes a deep breath and exhales, focused. “Come on, Jay. Let me know if this is a problem."

“No. I can handle it,” Jason says, giving the window a determined glare.

“Why didn’t you mention this before?” There had been plenty of time while they were planning this expedition.

“Dick, look. It’s not a problem, I just didn’t expect it to be so strong. Being stuck in the car with you hasn’t helped. But I think it’s doing exactly what B. wanted.” Jason unbuckles his seatbelt.

“What’s that?”

“Stoking those alpha shifter vibes,” Jason says, turning to fully have him. A wry grin on his face exposing his sharp canines, the gold ring around his eyes. Alpha shifter. Right.

“Well, that’s something at least." The keys jingle in Dick’s palm. His own nervous habit.  He’s ready to get this over with also. "If you’re sure, we should get going.”

“Wait.” Jason reaches for him. Lays those long fingers across his wrist tethering him with that gentle touch. “I’m going to be real respectful. But there might be a little… I don’t know. Posturing.”

“I know, and it’s fine, Jay. We’re going to be fine.”

“Sure we are. But I also know you’re not really. I just don’t want you to jump out of your skin if I touch you.”

Dick stares at him amazed by those words. Jason touches him all the time, _all the time._ He’s touching Dick now. But if Jason’s sensing a reticence in Dick, it’s a problem because another shifter will sniff out uncertainty in an alpha. That’s on Dick.

“Jason. We’ve slept together in the same bed. You’ve drooled in my hair,” Dick points out, still unwilling to let that one go. “I think I’m more than okay with you touching me.”

“Yeah but that’s pack stuff, isn’t it? You don’t seem to like it when. I mean.” Jason looks away, cheeks flushed. “If there’s people around. I get it,” he adds, “I do. But we have to be a couple and that’s different.”

After spending most of his life with shifters, Dick knows what to do in this situation. He tilts head to the side, offering Jason an opportunity to scent his distraction at the source. “Go ahead.”

Jason’s stares at him, eyes hard, mouth parting in a silent moan. “Don’t,” he says, weakly. “God Dick, you can’t just. You don’t.”

“Yeah, I do. I know what I’m doing. I know what this means,” Dick says, and if he sounds a little forceful it’s because he’s irritated by the constant projection of other people’s worry onto him, especially Jason’s. But a small part of it stems from nervousness. His offer is normal behavior. But this isn’t normal.

Nothing about their situation is normal.

Jason became a shifter in such an unorthodox manner, kidnapped and tortured, injected with experimental drugs and suffered hellish nights under the teeth of feral shifters--a whole host of terror visited upon a seventeen-year-old boy. Two years later, he’s still rediscovering who he is, learning how to live all over again. And he’s also bound to Dick, a human, sharing the ragged pulse of emotions that will flare between them for a lifetime.

It’s the bond that catches him off guard. A flare of resounding joy quakes through him as Jason gaze moves down to his neck. Confusion follows the feeling, then nothing.

Both he and Jason are bypassing several instinctual encounters due to Dick’s human heritage. While there are cases of human shifter bondings, they are quite rare, and there are no ingrained responses or sage wisdom to handle it. Posing as an alpha and omega seeking help at a fertility clinic is something neither of them had ever envisioned, yet here they are. At the same time, it’s one of many hurdles they need to leap as their lives further entwine. Jason’s first full moon has come and gone but there are still so many more things. His first blooding. His first rut.

Despite his best efforts, the rut looms like a heavy cloud in Dick’s mind.

“We’re in this together, all the way,” he says. “It’s not going to work if you keep thinking I can’t handle myself.” It’s a simple motion to twist Jason’s hand into his and then pull it up to palm his nape. “So, come on. You know I trust you.”

”You’re right,” Jason says, and it’s so quiet, so clear-eyed and ungrudging that Dick startles, heart skipping a beat, although he recovers quickly.

“I’m sorry, I missed that. Could you say it again? Hold on. Let me get my phone. W-T,” Dick says, addressing the phone’s AI. “Can you record this?”

The slightest smile touches Jason’s lips. “You are a dick,” he huffs, squeezing the back of Dick’s neck gently. His thumb circles over the patch of skin just below Dick’s jaw where the scent gland would rest were Dick a shifter, and not for the first time Dick worries for Jason, about what he might be missing.

“You don’t mind that much, do you?” Dick murmurs and it’s gratifying to see Jason’s eyes flare golden.

“Not that much,” Jason says in a voice that’s equally as soft, equally as close. He leans forward letting the tip of his nose brush down the curve of Dick’s neck. He follows with his cheek and the next time his lips over and over again. His other hand slides down to Dick’s waist resting there heavy and hot. Dick shivers and relaxes under his touch.

By the time they cross the parking lot, Jason and Dick have settled into their roles. Alpha, tall, overtly confident, aggressive, and assertive; omega, soft, clear-eyed, assessing, curving to smooth over the jagged spaces. Jason’s arm is a steady weight over his shoulder. Dick rests his head against the cool leather of Jason’s jacket letting the body heat roll all over him.

The clinic’s front desk is wide, welcoming. To the right of the desk are a series of small waiting rooms with frosted glass doors, a sign of privacy. The couple is invited to take the third room once they’ve signed in for their appointments. Dick peers into each room as they pass, but he doesn't find anyone waiting. A testament to the clinic’s discretion.

They sit beside each other in their waiting room with a tablet balanced across Dick’s thigh. He completes the paperwork for Todd Peterson and Brice Wynne. It still amazes Dick how easy it is to build a new life today when every piece of technology points to how difficult it should be. The young couple’s background information has been steadily integrated into the city’s records and local insurance programs for nearly 15 years. And just like that, a new life is born.

Hidden behind Jason’s bulk, Dick causally slides a slim drive into the tablet. Within seconds, the data mining program should burrow into the system and into the network. Both he and Jason have two drives apiece, surely enough to pull information about the clinic’s dealings with the victims.

After submitting the online form, Dick returns the tablet to the nurse and settles back against Jason’s side.

“It should only be ten minutes or so,” he murmurs.

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” says Jason, settling an arm over his shoulder.

“The nurse said Wednesday's are slower. And they try and keep their patients coming in at thirty minute increments to help manage the types of couples or even singles that arrive here looking for help.”

“They get a lot of people here, huh?”

“I told you that, Todd,” Dick says, stressing the name with a light nudge. “When I was researching clinics.”

“I know, _Brice_. ‘Compassion and care for all couples.’“Jason quotes one of the banners on the clinic’s webpage.

“So you were listening.”

“I’m always listening to you. And more people would too if they had the chance,” Jason says, a warning undercutting his light tone. He flicks his gaze over to pair of leafy plants resting inside hand-painted pots. A casual glance allows Dick to find the carefully painted wire threading between the leaves. A recording device of some kind, audio or visual or both. Jason pulls Dick closer, tilting his chin up so their eyes can meet. “So which kind of couple are we?”

“Nervous but ready,” says Dick. It’s the kind of answer this Brice persona would say, but there’s a bit of truth in there.

“That’s it, huh? We’re not a happy couple?” Jason asks, thumbing over Dick’s mouth, stroking his neck teasingly.

”We are. But we’re going to be so much happier after this.” Dick watches the color in Jason’s eyes deepen like a hidden lagoon, bottomless and urging at that answer. He leans over Dick a shy twist on his lips.

“You smell so good right now.” Jason gently scrapes his teeth against Dick’s neck. Posturing, Dick remembers, moaning when Jason gives the sensitive skin a soft bite. Even after experiencing it in the car, Dick shivers, startled at how good it feels.

A knock on the door shatters the hazy atmosphere building between them. Blushing, Dick pulls himself together before the door opens, ready to offer the nurse a pleasant smile. Jason merely spreads his legs wider and bares a toothy grin at the door.

The nurse smiles at them. “The doctor will see you know.”

The doctor’s office is long and open with a row of four window overlooking the greener parts of the medical complex. Dr. Hopwell is a tall, tanned man with light brown eyes and a receding hairline. His general appearance is slight; slightly handsome, slightly careworn, slightly benign. He uses a gentle smile and a thoughtful cadence in his speech as they sit down and begin the consultation. Dick imagines it helps relax the anxious couples who walk through the door.

The consultation begins with a quick overview of the clinic’s process and success rates, things Dick had already gleaned from the website and going to a variety of fertility web forums. Then Dr. Hopewell opens one of three folders on his desk and proceeds to ask them a series questions that seem geared to assess a couple’s willingness to receive fertility assistance. As planned, Jason answers the bulk of the questions and directs the conversation as best he can. There’s something about an alpha shifter that can affect even the humans around them, an aura of prideful authority that others respond to, and it appears that Dr. Hopewell is not immune to it backing away from probing too deeply when Jason reacts strongly, steering the conversation to hopeful topics when Jason relaxes.

Jason falls easily into his role. His laughter is a bit too forceful, his answers a bit too brash. It’s easy for Dick to sit beside him and pick up on the small couple cues, chiming in information that Jason may have missed. Dick’s role is to complement and he does, adding the worries, hinting at their fear. His desire to know all their options before starting a family.

After a twenty minutes or so, Dr. Hopwell starts to wind down.

“I suppose I should ask why the two of you have decided to come to the clinic first?  Most consider our services as a second choice.”

Jason leans forward in his seat. “We’re a traditional couple and we want to do this right. We’re waiting for my rut to sync with his schedule to increase our chances.” It’s over sharing and false, but Dick can’t help but blush a little when the word falls out of Jason’s mouth. His rut. “He’s even got me drinking these smoothies,” he says, nodding towards Dick.

“They’re guaranteed to help with your ah, virility,” Dick says with a pointed smirk. “We’re extremely health conscious and the idea of starting a family together has brought about some real lifestyle changes. Smoothies are a small part of it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, doc, we’re ready to start a family, but there are always complications for Alpha-Omega mating pairs. We just want to make sure we’ve explored all the options. Have a support team ready in case we need them.”

A thought strikes Dick. "And perhaps we can have the conversation of surrogates. Just in case." Jason squeezes his hand suddenly, a tight grip, and Dick swallows thickly. He knows he's off script right now, but there are some options they should consider for the future. Dick's the one who has to think about these things. "Again, we want to be prepared for any eventualities. We come from strong families, and we it'd be nice to have that ourselves."

Dr. Hopewell offers them a bland smile. “And we are happy to lend our support to all couples ready who are ready to build a family.” He closes the folder on his desk and opens another. Dick tries to read the paper upside down. There are notes written along the side, but it appears to be a script. Wonderful. “Now comes what my shifter clients consider to be the most taxing part of the consultation. If you will allow it, I would like to take you into separate rooms to complete the final portion of the questionnaire.”

Dick and Jason exchange a glance. “Separate rooms?” Jason repeats.

“They’ll be down the hall from each other. It’s a quick affair that will help us build your patient profile if you choose eventually choose to use our services I understand that as an omega, you may experience some anxiety might at being apart from your alpha while continuing such an intimate,” Dr. Hopewell gives Dick a sweeping glance, leaving a chill in Dick’s stomach, “Conversation with a new health care provider, but I can assure you that it will be quite brief. Afterward, we’ll meet back here to complete the session.”

Dick strokes his fingers over Jason’s wrist, a silent signal that this is the opportunity they needed.

“Alright,” says Jason.

Dr. Hopewell blinks as if he were startled at the swiftness of Jason’s decision, but his face arranges itself into another cool, bland smile that dimples his cheeks. Funny how quickly he manages to pull that expression together. He calls a nurse into the room and asks her to escort the couple to the separate consultation offices.

Dick pauses at the entrance when he recognizes the layout as an examination room. Like every room in the building, this one is spacious with a short desk and chairs tucked against the right wall. Behind the desk was a row of cabinets with a sink with an examination chair near the middle of the space. A green hospital curtain is pulled short at the far end of the room. A door breaks up the monotonous grey paint of the left wall. Probably the bathroom.

The nurse gestures Dick toward the chair. “The doctor typically sits with the dominant dynamic in a shifter pair first to settle any worries.”

“Right,” Dick says, turning to face her. “This is a normal part of the consultation.”

“Of course. It’s the same for dynamic and sapian couples,” The nurse uses the medical terms for describing shifter and human couples, which is the type of ingrained thinking Dick had pridefully believed he had moved past. Shifters _are_ human. She pulls a stethoscope from one drawer and a blood pressure monitor from another. “If you wouldn’t mind rolling up your sleeve, please.”

Dick sits through the check up with increasing levels of trepidation. The nurse is pleasant, easily charmed by his smiles, answers his questions readily, reassuringly, but there’s an odd tightening his gut. It’s followed by a frisson of anger that bites along Dick’s nerves, unfamiliar in its power, the undercurrent of rage. That's when he understands. It's Jason. What kind of questions are they asking Jason to spike that kind of emotion?

The nurse pulls a soft grey hospital gown and sets it on the desk. “The doctor will be along in a few minutes. You can go ahead and change.”

Dick stands, stretching a little and walks around the room. The green curtain has been testing his curiosity for the past ten minutes. His fingers wrap around the thick material. He pauses, anxious for some reason.

“Easy there, Dorothy. You shouldn’t pay attention to the man behind the curtain,” he says laughingly as he tugs back the material. The laughter dies on his lips.

Despite not being a shifter, the sight of metal and leather makes his stomach twist uncomfortably, explaining why the clinic chose to hide their dilation chair. It bears the stigma of its original purpose having been used to subjugate shifters for breeding and birth, all in the name of science.

Gut churning, Dick pulls the curtain back in place. He has a bad feeling about this. Moments later, he hears a muffled conversation in the hall before Dr. Hopewell enters. He carries the set of folders in his hand and a titanium colored tablet.

“Thank you for waiting so patiently, Brice,” he says, settling behind the desk. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

Dick masks his feelings behind a charming smile. “I’m ready.”

“How long have you and Mr. Peterson been in a dynamic partnership.”

“We’ve known each other for nearly six years.” Since Jason first moved into the manner, a fourteen-year-old kid with enough bitterness to last a dozen lifetimes. Dick counts the year of Jason’s disappearance because not a day went by when Dick didn’t think of Jason, didn’t talk to him, wish for his safe return home. “But our relationship began about eighteen months ago.”

“Is this your first established partnership.”

“Yes,” says Dick and that’s not a lie either. He’s never been in a relationship like this before.

“You and Mr. Peterson have shared neither heat nor rut together.”

“No, we haven't.”

“But you are engaged in a sexual relationship together.”

Dick meets Hopwell’s eyes which are only narrowed slightly, searching, waiting for something. “Dr. Hopewell,” he says slowly. “We’ve already answered these questions.”

“You are correct, Brice, but there is some divergence ahead if you bear with me. Next question?” He asks politely and smiles when Dick nods. “Have you shared your heat with another shifter prior to your relationship with Mr. Peterson?”

“No,” says Dick after a slight pause.

“A non-shifter? A human,” the doctor says, unnecessarily clarifying the question. “I understand it’s not common, but it’s not unheard of either.” His smile loses a bit of its well-meaning blankness, becoming knowing.

Dick frowns infusing his expression with a bit of confusion. “I haven't shared my heat with anyone. I. Todd said in the couple’s interview, we’re traditional.”

“Waiting for a bond to form, perhaps?”

Dick shifts in his seat. Questions like that are considered highly personal for shifters on the level of political or spiritual affiliations. “I don’t think I should--”

“That’s not on the questionnaire,” Dr. Hopwell interrupts his protest. “Just my curiosity poking out. Please forgive me.” Dr. Hopewell’s smile tilts towards the tablet where he begins jotting with a white-tipped stylus. “Next question. This one can be a bit of a challenge to our clients. I want you to understand that even though you are not a current client, you still receive the benefit of doctor-patient confidentiality.” His dark eyes rest heavily on Dick, waiting for an answer, he realizes.

“I understand.”

“Good,” the doctor says, pleased. “Have you at any time in the past or present conceived a child?”

“Uh. No. No.” Dick stammers because it feels like something Brice would do but also because he’s caught off guard. “I haven’t. I’ve never been pregnant.”

“Of course not. Have you at any time in the past or present tried to conceive?”

“ _No_ ,” Dick says forcefully. “Dr. Hopwell. These questions were all answered before the consultation in the forms this clinic sent us. I don’t see why--”

“Brice, please. There’s no need to become upset,” interrupts the doctor. He leans across the desk and his next words have a conspiratorial tone. “I don’t doubt your honesty, but you must understand, I have seen many a wife, fiance, and breeding partner who have come for fertility treatments for their ‘first’ child.” His long fingers twitch in the air to emphasis like grasping spiders. “We have found that they are able to be more forthcoming when separated from their significant other. It helps alleviate some of the pressure and establish a bond of trust between doctor and patient. I’m sure you can understand how it might have positive impact on the fertility cycle.”

The doctor’s voice has taken something of a sing-song quality that seemed at odds with his normal speech patterns, like the doctor is attempting to weave a story. It nags at Dick’s memory, but he’s not sure what it means. Uncomfortable, Dick murmurs agreement.

“I’m glad you agree that confessing to past indiscretions can be valuable for relieving stress.” Dr. Hopwell’s sharp face twitches, surprised by Dick’s acquiescence.

“Well, you’re no priest, but I can see how it’d work for some,” Dick mutters.

“If you do indeed come to our clinic for assistance, it is important that we understand your full medical history, doubly so for _you_ ,” Dr. Hopwells says, chidingly. “There are few omega class shifters and their birthrates are declining. But do not let that worry you, our clinic has helped over one hundred dynamic partnerships conceive and carry to full term.”

“That’s why we’re here, doctor,” says Dick. “But I assure you, neither Todd and I have ever tried to conceive a child together.”

“Good,” says the doctor, but he sounds disappointed. “We have one final step in our meeting before you and Todd are reunited. If you’ll follow me.” Dr. Hopwell stands and turns towards the back of the room. He heads unerringly for the shrouded area, waiting for Dick to face him. He turns and with one hand yanks the curtain back. The hooks clatter over the steel bar. “Are you familiar with this tool, Brice?”

Dick glances at the chair after its almost violent reveal and then back at the doctor whose eyes have taken on an oily sheen, like he’s once again anticipating Dick’s reaction. “Yes,” he says slowly. “It’s a dilation chair.”

“Exactly. Designed to aid shifters during the birthing process. This one hasn’t seen an omega class in quite some time.” Dr. Hopwell’s fingers spread against the headrest that’s split by a padded metal bar. A mouth guard. “We’ll use this to complete your check-up, and then we’re done.”

The plan called for many contingencies, and while the chair hadn’t been on the list, a similar situation had. Dick is prepared for this, but his heart rate begins to climb. “I thought this was just a consultation.”

“It is. This is the last part. The nurse left you a gown. I just need to grab a few things of my own.” Dr. Hopewell turns to the cabinets and pulls out a set of medical gloves and a small bottle of clear liquid. He sets them on the silver tray beside the chair, then adjusts the tie around his neck. Nervous or excited or both, Dick thinks, stomach twisting.

“As you can see, this process will be painless. Would you like to change into it now, Brice?” While they didn’t affect him, Dick recognizes Hopewell’s tones as omega placating--a vocal inflection that’s supposed to produce compliance in omega shifters. And he’s supposed to be one, so.

Dick picks up the gown with a sigh, rubbing the soft material with his thumb. Looks like Bruce was right. He hates when Bruce is right. “I don’t think." He doesn't have to try and make his voice sound unsure. "Dr. Hopwell, I’m sorry, but--”

The doctor interrupts Dick with a deep humming sound. “I understand that you’re nervous. Many omegas are without their alpha, but I’m your doctor,” says Dr. Hopewell in that bland sing-song voice, sounding both solicitous and patronizing in a way that makes Dick grind his teeth. His eyes crawl down Dick's body and then back to his face. “Would it help if we gave you another moment alone? Yes,” he continues after gauging Dick’s expression, “You deserve a bit of privacy, don’t you? Change, make yourself comfortable on the chair, and when I return, we’ll resume the examination.”

The doctor exits closing the door firmly leaving Dick alone in the small room, the chair looming behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news! This story is almost complete, so the WIP part will just be edits before uploading to AO3.
> 
> I want to thank everyone for the amazing comments and kudos. They really keep this writer motivated!

Dick undresses in silence. He folds his jacket, shirt, and trousers over the back of the desk chair then slips into the hospital gown. He takes off his briefs next tucking them beneath his pants. Goosebumps crawl over his arms and legs, tiny spiders of feeling he tries to rub away, but his hands feel too cold, his chest tight.

The dilation chair sits cold and imposing in the room. 

The stirrups point downward, the handholds are padded, and the seat is a coated leather material in a warm beige tone giving the chair some semblance of normalcy. It could almost be a normal apparatus found in doctor’s offices, only this one bears the marks of a cruel history. The handles still have twin metal clasps on the sides where a strap would have been placed to secure the hands. A quick glance shows the same clasps are still on the foot rests as well. The sickening feeling in Dick’s belly increases. 

There’s no reason for him to be intimidated by furniture. He approaches the metal seat like he did all other problems standing in his way; head on. Dick fits one foot into the stirrup then grabs the headrest, hoisting himself up to straddle the silicon seat. He sits down slowly, back to the door, mindful of the synthesized slick from his body. 

The soft cotton splits open across his back. He tugs the fabric close, shifting to make himself a little more comfortable, then huffs when the hospital gown opens again. 

“You’d think we’d be swimming in designer hospital gowns by now.” Dick grouses, grabbing one of the handholds. The sound of his own voice isn’t very comforting. 

Reaching for the second handhold is a huge mistake. The chair folds downward the second his weight rests against the handle sending Dick’s head toward the floor and his ass into the air. “What the hell!” He yelps, flopping against the padded cushions. His head reels from the speed of his sudden displacement.  The gown unfolds over him like a petal, the crinkly edges held by the snap around his neck. His tanned skin prickles from the cold. Dick tries to gather the gown to cover himself and slips, nearly dropping nose first into the mouth guard. The foot rests spread his legs out and the armrests straighten so that Dick’s weight rests against his chest. It’s a precarious balance that leaves his muscles trembling with effort. A cool, metallic ring presses against his groin, and he realizes this chair isn’t as modern as Dr. Hopwell stated if it has an alpha milking round.

This entire situation has Dick feeling awkward not only for the lie of his heritage but the idea that he and Jason are ready. Balancing in an archaic breeding chair has a way of putting things in perspective, and Dick’s reminded that there is so much separating them now.

The sound of the door opening brings an abrupt end to his woolgathering. A tangle of mixed feelings float through him as he lays face down and exposed. He flushes, embarrassed and upset by the embarrassment. He shouldn't be. This is only an examination. He's prepared for this exact moment.

After taking a deep breath, Dick pulls on his cheerful mask. “Close the door, doc, you’re letting in a draft.”

The door slams shut. The slow, heavy footsteps drag across the tile floor until they reach Dick and the chair. "What the fuck is this?” Jason’s growls.

Of course it’s Jason. Of course. Dick grips the handholds tightly and attempts to push up but it only sends him rocking down. He whines quietly feeling the slick melting down his inner thigh. 

The room is silent but for Jason’s breathing which seems to be escalating to harsh, open-mouthed pants. Jason takes a step closer, another. Dick’s toes curl over the stirrups. His heart hammers in his chest and he feels hot suddenly the burning so intense he may as well be pinned to the pavement with a magnifying glass. That’s what Jason’s gaze feels like, scorching, pointed, consuming. That’s what Jason’s hands feel like as they skate over his side. Touching him. Dick swallows back a moan. He feels a displacement of air, another flare of warmth as Jason leans over him and, god, Dick rocks forward again. For the first time in a long time, he freezes unsure what to do next as a heavy body leans over his.

Jason pulls the ends of the gown together and closing it against Dick’s back. “It’s time we got out of here,” he says before kicking a small pedal at the base of the dilation chair. It slides back into an upright position dropping Dick into the seat with a damp thud. “Come on.”

Dick accepts the hand steadying his elbow as he backs off of the chair. He feels unsteady on his feet. It’s like all the blood rushed to his head and refused to come back. “What are you doing here?”

“Rescuing you, apparently.” Jason snaps, sounding tense. “What are _you_ doing here?”

Dick whirls around, tries to at least. Jason’s angry fist is clenched around the fabric at the small of his back making the movement more of an awkward teeter into Jason’s chest. He still feels dizzy. “What do you mean ‘what am I doing here’? Dr. Hopwell is supposed to come back for my examination--”

“He didn’t say anything about an examination. He lied to us!” 

“And then we’re going to conclude the consultation together,” Dick continues.

“I’ve been twiddling my thumbs in a freaking closet for a half hour. The nurse stopped by to give me a bottle of water and said the doctor would be with me shortly.”

Dick glances up, a thread of uncertainty finally trembling through him. “No invasive exams for you?”

Jason pulls Dick into his arms then. “Not even a little tickle. While you were in here getting ready to be mated, I was. Sitting there worried. Found the nurse's office and got distracted for a minute.” Jason taps at the thumbdrive in his pocket. He must have uploaded the program into another computer. “Then I decided to come find you. Are you okay?”

Dick rests his palms against Jason’s abdomen feeling the muscles expand and contract. He slides them around Jason’s waist. “I’m fine.”

“You’re trembling,” Jason whispers.

“Am I?” Dick feels the shakiness then, the waver in the next breath he draws.

“Yes. I could  _ feel _ it, how scared you were.”

Dick frowns against his chest. “I’m not scared.”

“Seriously, dickhead? I can smell it too. You didn’t want to be there. You didn’t want to be like that. Fuck, this is only supposed to be a consultation and they had you trussed up like.” Jason growls again, a deep rumbling sound that vibrates through them both. Dick’s surprised to find the sensation comforting. “And you are  _ wet _ .”

“It’s synthetic. My body temperature.”

“I know what it is.” Jason says, shortly. He rubs down then up Dick’s back before gripping his shoulders and pushing him back. “Here.” Jason snatches Dick’s clothes from the examination chair and shoves them into his arms. “You get dressed so we can get the hell out of this place.” Jason turns his back on Dick, poking at the papers on the desk.

“We can’t just  _ leave _ . We’re in the middle of a….” Dick pulls the shirt over his head. “A consultation. A very invasive one but it’s not like. Todd, CRH have the best birthrates in the city.”

“Yeah. And they had you in a breeding chair.” Jason pokes at the tablet left on the desk. “Is this the doctor’s?”

“What are you doing? You can’t just go through that.” Dick makes a big show of coming over and trying to take the tablet covering Jason’s insertion of his thumbdrive.

“Relax, babe.”

“Babe?” Dick mouths silently, ruffling. And the thing of it is, he feels another layer of tension roll from him. “Don’t even try it. You’re acting like a. A wild _were_.”

Jason’s brow crooks, amused despite himself. “Am I now?”

“Trying to get into something that holds private patient files for no good reason? Yes.”

“First, I have a very good reason. Second, you seriously need to relax. It’s locked.”

“Yes, well, I don’t want to alienate the man who’s going to help us start a family. Put that down.” Dick places the tablet on the table once the drive has been removed. Mission accomplished. “Thank you,” he says, offering Jason a smile of genuine relief.

“You’re welcome,” says Jason, pulling Dick to his side.  “I’m ready to leave now.”

They stride through the hallway with every intention of walking out. In the lobby, the nurse smiles and waves them towards the desk. “Did you need any information for a follow up appointment.”

“Actually,” Jason begins.

“Don’t,” says Dick, pulling him back bodily. He’s not about to let Jason make a scene for someone who probably doesn’t deserve his ire. The moment of hesitation is all the time Dr. Hopwell and another nurse, male, tall and imposing, to come rushing through the door. Dick digs his fingers into Jason’s sides and wills his temper down

The doctor pauses when he sees Jason and Dick by the desk. He straightens his tie and sweeps the falling hair back from his face. “Gentlemen,” he says. “I apologize for the delay, there was something of an emergency with a patient who’s been recently placed on bedrest, but we can finish the consultation now, if you’re ready.”

“No need to apologize, Hopwell. We’re through here.” Jason sneers, draping his arm across Dick’s shoulders. The weight dislodges some of the tension in Dick’s body.

“Mr. Peterson,” begins the doctor.

“No. Stop. We’re leaving.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps.” The doctor flounders, looking at his nurses. He mouth twists as he grasps for a reason to keep them here. “Another appointment. When Mr. Wynne is feeling less temperamental. We understand that all omegas are different, and I was remiss in underestimating Brice’s attachment to his alpha. If you need to be in the room for the final part of his consultation, I understand.”

“Excuse me,” Dick says, eyebrows raising. The man is attempting to lay the blame squarely on Dick’s attachment rather than behavior that stretched past appropriate.

Jason whirls on the room, eyes golden, displeasure a seething tangible thing. The front desk nurse drops back to her seat and Dr. Hopwell and the nurse who arrived with him seem to stagger in place. “If we return, and it’s a big if doc, we’re going to have a long chat about what it means to walk into an examination room and find my mate alone and in distress on a fucking  _ breeding chair _ . We are done here.”

Jason stalks towards the door, Dick in tow.

Wisely, no one makes another move to stop them.

 

* * *

 

The drive home takes far longer than normal. Dick watches Jason, who sits silent and unmoving, hands gripping his knees tightly. Jason’s polite but firm in his rebuffs to Dick’s attempts at conversation or even a pre-debriefing strategy for talking to Bruce once they return. After a while, Dick stops trying. They remain trapped in their own thoughts all the way to the manor.

Dick parks the car in the western garage contemplating the space between them. So different than a scant hours before when Dick had found himself burrowing into Jason’s side playing the omega, so docile, so pleasing. It had been all too easy to fall into the role. So easy to forget that Dick is only human.

A very small part of Dick, a part he’d do good to extinguish, wished Jason had some type of reaction to him. Something more than the protective streak that’s been chafing at him for weeks now. He keeps waiting for it to happen, but it doesn’t seem like it ever will.

A watched kettle never boils, right? He sighs, watching as Jason darts into the manor. Dick slams the car door and then jogs up the brick-lined path that connected the manor’s side entrance to the stone carriage house that housed the Wayne family automobiles.

Bruce is downstairs in front of his massive computer system. When Dick had been a child and discovered that while Bruce’s desire to protect both the shifters and non-shifter inhabitants of Gotham city sprang from the Wayne family’s fight for equality and justice, Bruce’s personal crusade differed in both methods and legality.  

The second their feet hit the cave’s stone floor Jason pushes ahead. He digs into his pocket and pulls out the drives, throwing them across the console desk. The drives skitter to a halt against the keyboard and the desk’s’ edge. “Did you know?” Jason asks, voice hoarse with all the anger he’d been suppressing.

“Jason, wait!” Dick calls, hurrying to his side, but neither Jason or Bruce acknowledge him. Their eyes are locked in a weighted stare that seems endless until Jason jerks his head away with a snarl.

“I suspected that any clinic would want to verify an unregistered omega class shifter as did Dick.” Bruce glances at his oldest ward. Whatever he sees changes his posture, his tone. “What happened?” A low growl enters his voice when he asks. 

“Nothing that I couldn’t handle,” says Dick, looking at Jason. “We couldn’t handle,” he adds. “Everything turned out just fine.”

Jason glares at him. “Seriously, man? You’re just going to--”

“Nothing we couldn’t handle.” Dick repeats firmly, finally glad to interrupt someone today. Now he and Jason are staring at each other.

“Why don’t you start your mission report,” Bruce says, gesturing to the seats. His fingers steeple below his chin as Jason and Dick give a slightly modified recounting of their time at the clinic. Dick sees no reason to bring up the dilation chair, but Jason does, anger seething out at the idea of its use let alone during an exam. Both refrain from mentioning Dick climbing atop it like a sacrificial lamb.

The debrief unwinds some of the tension that has been reverberating between Dick and Jason, building to a crescendo that didn’t want to end. They’re able to laugh a little by the end at Jason’s unbridled jokes about his display of dominance and the reaction he evoked. Bruce gives him a grim smile that's both sternly disapproving and proud.

“You’d have done much worse, old man,” says Jason.

“Probably,” says Bruce. “Is that everything?”

“I think so. I can check the data miner if you want, see how the file transfer is going.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Bruce nods towards a flickering screen. “We’re at seventy percent of recorded data. Your program works fast.”

“Genius-level hacker,” Dick says, pointing at himself.

“Unimpressed and unfed shifter,” Jason mocks, pointing at his gut. “Are we done here?”

“For now,” says Bruce. “Dick, I’ll need you to stop by in the morning before you head to work. Jason? The pack is planning an evening run tomorrow. You’re welcome to join us.”

Jason’s shrug can’t hide the excitement in his eyes. “I’ll think about it,” he says before ushering Dick back to the elevator.

The trip back up is different than the one down where the space yawned like a chasm, unfathomably cold and dark below the sea. Jason taps the back of his hand against Dick and grins when Dick knocks back. Both he and Jason jostle against each other as they cross into the kitchen, turning sideways to get through doors, fingers brushing in a way that must mean something. And even though they’re silent again, this time, Jason hasn’t cut Dick away again.

In the kitchen, Dick takes Jason’s hand and watches Jason’s half smile unfurl.

“You got some time?” Dick asks. “I know I could go for a round of anything anywhere. Practice sparring, new episode of that show we're binging, we can pick out something from the library?”

“Yeah. But before we do that, let’s talk, huh? Get some things out the way.”

“Things like what?”

“Things like your patient's’ rights being seriously violated.” Jason grinds the words through his teeth.

“Do you really think that?” says Dick, feeling like he’d missed that part of the afternoon. Did he feel a little anxious at the initial engagement and the awkward seesawing exposure of the dilation chair? Of course. Violated?  Despite the strange chill sweeping through him, he doesn't feel that. Does he?

“Man, we’ve got some heavy communicating to do if you’re willing to give that freak doctor the benefit of the doubt.” Jason’s voice trails away. His face furrows in annoyance and then he rolls his teal eyes towards the heaven.

“What is it?” Dick finds the source of Jason’s annoyance aggressively lounging across from them in the alcove beside the mudroom.

It’s so obviously staged. Damian has a glass of lemonade with a straw, several snacks, and his shoes off. Unlike Dick and Cass who walk barefoot whenever they can, Damien never takes his shoes off unless he’s bathing or about to go to bed. He’s focusing on the book in his hand but his head drifts towards the clatter Dick makes in the kitchen as he pours his own glass of lemonade.

Dick sighs. “Hey Dami.” He waves until Damian looks up from his book.

Damian springs to his feet as if he were waiting for the invitation. “You stink of mating,” he says, distaste dripping from his mouth like water.

Jason’s expression closes like a bank on Wednesday. “Taking a shower,” he announces. “Dick, you deal with the pup.”

“Cowardly mutt,” Damian sneers as Jason heads towards the stairs. Jason throws up his middle finger without breaking stride.

Unfortunately, Dick really doesn’t want to deal with this either. He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, picks up his lemonade and wanders into the hall. “Come on. You got ten minutes, Dami. And afterwards, you’re going to apologize to Jason.”

“Why?”

“Because behavior like that is beneath you.”

Damian says he doesn’t pout, but the little moue of his mouth tells a different story. “Fine,” Damian says, agreeing to Dick’s terms. “I need to talk to you.”

“I figured what with how quickly you fought for my time. Go ahead with it.”

“Upstairs,” says Damian. “I require privacy.”

Of course he does. They climb up the stairs and go to the east study. Once there, Dick settles into one of the leather backed conversation chairs placed beside the windows. Outside the world is still gray and miserable with rain.

Dick waits for Damian to settle in the opposite chair before nudging him with his toes. “What’s on your mind, little D?”

“Must you rush me?” Damian hisses. “This is of a delicate nature.” Damian looks down his nose at Dick, rather imperiously, but his cheeks are flushed with color.

“Sorry,” Dick says, contritely.

Damian waves the apology away. “It disturbs me to say this, but the bandaid rip you apply to emotional settings works best. I will employ it now.” He takes a deep breath, steeling himself before saying, “I wish to have your advice. Recently, Duke has asked that I accompany him to the movies. It has been confirmed as a  _ date _ .” Damian says the word delicately, like it balances unevenly upon his tongue.

His first instinct is to smile, but Dick squashes it ruthlessly aware that Damian is pushing far out of his comfort zone to come to him with dating advice. After all, he’s not  _ that  _ far removed from fourteen and the nervous tumble in his gut when he thought about asking his first crush to homecoming.

“Okay, wow. I would have thought you and Colin had a thing.” If Dick had to place money on a first boyfriend, Colin would have been it. He and Damian had been friends for ages, and Dick knew through his policy of open communication with Damian, and the rest of his family, that he and Colin had crossed several boundaries together in recent years. Puberty is a hellava time in the manor. Dick doesn’t know how Bruce deals with it, is doing it, really.

“No. Not Colin,” Damian says, flushing. “I have told you our friendship far exceeds whatever primitive stirrings we once felt.”

“Right,” says Dick, refusing to linger on what comprised primitive stirrings. “So if Colin isn’t a factor, what’s the problem?”

“Duke is different.” Damian confesses, looking to his hands. “I am unsure how to proceed.”

“You’ve gone to the movies with friends before. Group dates. I don’t see how this is different.”

Damian’s frown creases his forehead and pulls at mouth. “I am unsure if you are being deliberately obtuse or displaying willful ignorance to my problem. Either way is unflattering to you and our relationship.”

“I wouldn’t presume to know what it is you’re feeling. That’s why I’m asking,” says Dick. “I know you two are friends and that you like him, so I’m not sure what’s the problem. What about Duke is different?”

“He.” Damian pauses. A flush crawls up his neck. “I can smell his interest.”

“His friendship or his interest?”

“Both,” Damian confesses. “I do not like admitting it, but this is is not something I would readily refuse.”

“Do you return his interest?”

“What?” Damian looks at him as if Dick has said something outlandish, in another language even.

“Simple question. Are you interested in him?”

Damian’s expression grew contemplative. “We’ve spent some time together with friends over the summer. I do find him interesting. Perhap I could be. Interested.”

“It’s okay to hang out and see how you fit together. You can do it casually, you can do it with formal dates, you can do that with friends too. Whatever you feel comfortable with. And if it works, if it turns out you feel something more, than you and Duke can go from there.”

“And if it doesn’t work out?” Damian asks softly.

“Then you can just be friends. Or nothing at all. You don’t owe anyone anything,” Dick says, feeling that this should be pretty good advice for a boy on the cusp of high school dating. He would have preferred this kind of talk to the one Bruce had given him--a diagram laden book, a box of condoms, and an intensely dry speech on how human dating practices differed from the complexities of shifter mating. Dick had tuned out much of the entire thing or possibly, the rush of bloody embarrassment pounding through his skull drowned out the speech. Overtime, he managed to absorb more knowledge about shifter mating and culture than even avid shifterphiles. Dick himself knows the basics about displays and presentations alongside general pack dynamics. And he's brushed up a bit himself on the ways to court and confront an interested shifter, the ways to provoke desire and protection from them. He casts around for any more sage tips he’s learned over the years. “Just be yourself, well, the self that’s respectful of other people’s feelings as well as your own. Be honest and have a good time.”

“Hmm.” Damian twists the bracelet around his wrist, frost-blue eyes lidded as he reflects on Dick’s words. Dick would never say it aloud, but Damian never looks more like his father than when he’s deep in thought.“I cannot find very much to disagree with. I will take your advice.”

“That’s great, Dami. You know I’m always here if you need to talk.”

Damian bumps their shoulders together. “I had discarded the initial urge to seek you out. The glacial pace of your bond building with Todd led me to believe you had no relationship experience to draw from.”

“Hey!” Dick snags a magazine from the end table and thwaps Damian’s knee. “Respect your experienced elders. Especially when they solve your problems.”

“Ha!” Damian snorts, derisively. “I believe Cass provided the pivotal advice in this situation, but I suppose you did help somewhat.”

“What did she say?”

“She suggested I speak to you.”

Dick’s smile rises like the sun. “Bring it in,” he says, opening his arms wide.

Damian’s nose wrinkled again. “Surely you’re not suggesting….”

“You deserve a hug after that. Come on. Six seconds tops.”

“I refuse.” Damian fends off Dick’s arms with a series of wrist blocks and swipes. His disdain unfurls into a sly grin. “Todd would throw fits after having worked so hard to scent you. Isn’t that right?”

Jason melts out of the shadows. Fresh from the showers, Jason is shirtless, smooth skin flushed in the yellow lamplight. His damp hair waves softly over the shorne undercut.

“Beat it, brat,” he says, addressing Damian.

“Fortunate for you, I am done with him,”  Damian exits the room with some dignity, only turning to snarl after Jason wishes him good luck on his “date.” Jason snaps back then laughs.

“You shouldn’t tease him. This is important.”

Jason settles against the arm of Dick’s chair. “I should tease him because it is important. You can’t take life so seriously, especially when you’re not even in high school yet. It makes the big changes seem insurmountable. Plus, he can handle it.”

“I know he can,” Dick says, gently. He plucks at a loose thread at the knee of Jason’s shorts. “You said we needed to talk?”

“Yeah,” says Jason. The golden ring around his eyes seems especially bright as it glides over Dick’s face. “But first, could you shower?”

Even though Dick understands Jason’s request and echoes the need to have the omega pheromones swept from his skin, he wonders at Jason’s insistence. Still, he’s glad to spend time under the spray of water. The showerhead beats a soothing rhythm at his crown, the sore muscles in his neck, relaxing the last bit of tension wound within him. 

It had been a long day and despite Dick’s best attempts, he has continued to think about being spread open in the dilation chair. It had been disorienting, terrifying on some level, moving him a little closer to understanding shifter culture than he’d like. He tries not to think of his reaction to finding Jason strapped to a dilation chair or a laboratory table when a bolt of realization shocks through him reminding Dick that they very nearly had.

For an innumerable time, Dick closes his eyes and feels grateful that Jason did return to them alive and that he’s so well now, growing in all the ways they feared he would never experience.

After finishing his shower, Dick meets Jason back in the study. Dick settles into the cushion beside him, legs pulled up, watching as Jason forms an imperfect mirror of his posture, legs crossed, cheek pressed against his fist. He stares at Dick, expression guarded. It feels as if the distance has returned.

Dick doesn’t like that. He nudges their feet together. “You wanted to talk?”

“Was hoping to listen again. But I can if you want.”

“I do,” says Dick. A part of him hungered for Jason’s voice after being denied it for so long. Jason’s returned brought a feral quietness to the young man. His sharp wit comes out so rarely.

“Sorry about earlier. The drive any everything. The way I found you propped up in that room.” Jason growls. “It’s been one of those days, you know? Makes me think about you and me and.”

“And,” Dick prods gently.

“I never wanted to ask you this because, you know, the answer is pretty clear but. Would you change it?” Jason catches his eye then looks away. “If you could, would you chose to be bound to me?”

The question pierces through Dick leaving a cold sensation in its wake. Dick wills an answer to his mouth, tries to say something anything but he feels numb, stupid to think that Jason didn’t have these same fears.

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” Jason says before Dick even finds the strength to breathe again. “I shouldn’t. Forget it.” His face is flushed and pale like he’s sick with anger.

Dick closes his eyes so he could quickly sort through his thoughts. “I don’t have an answer for that, Jay. I’ve tried not to think in that way because it’s pointless. We are bound. There’s nothing that we can do to change it.” It’s best to not even worry about it, not when they have so many other things to consider.

“That’s how you think about us, huh?”

“I don’t think about being bound in those terms at all. I thought I explained that to you before. It’s all in what we do now. Together.”

Jason sighs into the pillow. “Yeah. You say that a lot.”

“What’s brought all this on?”

“Being at the clinic. Answering all those questions. Knowing it was a lie but still.” Jason shrugs, muscles flexing down his neck and heavy shoulders. “Sometimes I thought you were giving honest answers. I know you hate it when I.” He taps his nose. “But there’s a difference and I can’t help but notice it.”

“What part?” Dick asks, curious and unwilling to tell Jason he doesn’t mind. He just doesn't like it when his scent is used against him.

“The background things. Us being a happy couple. You so willing to let me take the lead on things. Wanting to grow with a family. Those kinds of things.”

Dick remembers those moments. He prevaricated throughout the interview portion of the consultation, relying on the feelings had to weigh his words with truth. But those answers had been riddled with truth. “I also said that we were nervous but ready, Jay. You don’t think that?”

“What’s there to even be nervous about?” Jason asks, seriously. “We know each other better than we ever have. You and your communication policy. It’s helped.” Jason reaches for Dick’s hand as if to prove a point. Dick squeezes it gently. “What’s the problem now?”

“There’s still so much. Jason, we’ve still got so many situations to navigate. We haven’t even kissed yet, you know? You’re about to get the urge to uh, mount me any day now, and you’ve never even.” Dick laughs, feeling cagy about this subject, because while it’s true they still have so many milestones concerning Jason’s shifter status to overcome, Jason’s rut still looms in his mind. 

Despite the most tawdry rumors that have persisted since Dick moved into the manor, he’s never slept with a shifter. He’s been curious about it. Open to it. Now seriously facing the prospect. But he’s never gone for it, feeling unsure of the physical disparities. He’s been preparing himself both physically and mentally, but still has some reservations about being mounted and knotted. 

“What if we’re not compatible? You ever think about that?”

Jason frowns. “What do you mean not compatible? We’ve been dating for weeks now, dickhead. And it’s going pretty well, right?”

Dick stares at him, stumped. They’ve done no such thing and he opens his mouth to say so except. Last week Jason met Dick for a dessert lunch at his favorite pie place in old Bludhaven. And the week before that, he and Jason went out to see the Injustice League film on opening day. And days ago, Jason came over with Dick’s favorite food after work just because. Whenever they’re out together, Jason has been very entertaining, witty, always so proud to have made Dick throw his head back and laugh. Dozens of tiny moments unfold in his mind, a flipbook of images from the past six months right after Dick put his foot down and told Jason that was only the beginning. They had a lifetime of sharing each other’s emotions, of being steps away from being inside the other’s skin. They had to communicate and they had to get to know each other better. In short, they had to figure out what kind of relationship they could even have together.

Jason unthreads their fingers. “Come on, Dick,” he says, jeering. “If you weren’t having fun, you could’ve just said so.”

“That’s not it. It’s just. I’m only now realizing how close we’ve become,” Dick says slowly. Not entirely truth but it’s enough to help Jason relax. “You’re right. It’s been going great.”

“But you’re still worried about my rut.”

“Don’t go thinking it’s the end of the world, because I’m nervous about it,” Dick says, pulling Jason close again. “Nervous but ready, remember? And happy.” He can feel the heat from Jason’s palms moving up his back, over his shoulder blades.

“Maybe we can test your compatibility thing out here and now. Set your mind at ease.” The golden light around Jason’s eyes flares.

“What about yours?”

“Oh, I’m pretty clear on what I want.” Jason catches his chin between two strong hands. “This is okay?”

Dick nods, sure that he engineered himself into this position somehow. He licks his lips. “Yeah. This is okay, Jason.”

“You want this…  _ me _ . Like this?”

“Like this. It’s more than okay.” Dick says again when Jason begins to frown. Jason’s touch is so tender the pads of his fingers light and soothing over Dick’s jaw. “ _ Jason _ .”

Jason looks at him with such fury, such awe. “I need you to say it. Come on. I need to hear it, please.”

“I want it. I want you,” Dick says without hesitation. “Kiss me.”

Jason takes a deep breath and it’s like he’s sucking in all the oxygen in his lungs. It’s dizzying, and Dick braces his hands against the only solid thing in the suddenly spinning room. Beneath his palm beats Jason’s heart, steady and true. Jason licks his lips before leaning past the final distance pressing their mouths together in a slow, gentle kiss.

He expects, well, Dick isn’t sure what he expected from their first kiss, but it isn’t this level of intensity. Dick wonders if this is how it will always be. If he and Jason will always move toward one another, search and breath for one another, get lost and drown in the taste and the feel of one another until the entire world is shut out. Until the only thing holding him in place is Jason, the confident sweep of Jason’s tongue when he part’s Dick’s lips and deepens the kiss with a devouring hunger that threatens to take him apart. A sharp thrill races through him at the thought leaving him nervous, a little frightened by the consuming nature of just this kiss. This simple kiss.

They break apart for air panting against the other’s open mouth. Jason’s lips curl in a lopsided smile. He looks relieved and pleased, a combination that’s been so rare of late. Dick traces it with his fingers, the beautiful curve that’s for him alone.

Suddenly, Jason unfolds from the couch and stands tall and strong. He pulls Dick to his feet and brings their bodies together. This feels good the way they slot together neatly, curving like water against the shore. Dick tilts his head up, offering again. There’s no clear moment that defines the next kiss, but it’s just as consuming, just as deep. Dick’s stomach clenches with excitement, but he gives as good as he gets. For all his demeanor and intensity, Jason’s technique is a raw. Just like his little wing. Dick’s lips twitch into a smile and he slows them down, coaxes Jason to meet him halfway, to play.

The point of his tongue drags against Jason’s palate dragging a husky moan from Jason’s throat. He does it again and Jason’s fingers tighten. He flicks his tongue this time, and Jason gasps, pushing forward to chase that infuriating sensation. Dick teases him again, and Jason backs him into the wall. He moans, feeling the pressure of Jason’s dick pressing into the fly of his jeans. The hot, hard length of him stirs a pang in Dick’s belly, arousal. He is deeply turned on right now and he moans brokenly as the feeling spreads through his body making him feel loose-limbed and desperately tight all at once.

“Dick. God, Dick.” Jason groans, pulling away only to press soft kisses to Dick’s cheek, chin, throat. Jason’s gorgeous mouth presses every place that isn’t where Dick needs it to be. He captures Jason’s chin in his hand and tilts it back down to kiss and kiss and kiss him. Slowly, the two relax against the wall caught in the simple pleasure of making out until Dick feels like he’s floating, falling, held together by nothing other than Jason’s trembling hands on his waist.

They part for the umpteenth time and Jason grins, teeth sharp. “How’s that for compatibility?”

“Good, little wing. We’re uh, we’re probably setting new records,” Dick says, babbling a little and laughing at himself. He wonders how he could have even doubted their attraction. The buzzing live wire that connects them feels familiar, natural, not something falsely experienced that comes between their bound. He reaches intent on dragging Jason in for more, but he’s thwarted.

“You should go,” Jason breathes catching Dick’s wrist in his hands. He takes a step back letting a little distance settle between them.

Go? Dick stares at him, confused. Kisses like that, they mean something, everything, but most especially not go. Dick wants to see how deep this connection runs. Dick licks his lips and he swears he tastes Jason there.  He wants...god, he wants  _ Jason _ . “Is it? Are you?”

“No.” Jason denies before Dick can complete the thought. “It’s not the rut. But I think it’d be best. If you go.”

“Why don’t you go?” Dick asks, still feeling a little off balance.

“This is my room,” Jason says, finally letting Dick’s hands fall away. He takes another little step back and it’s suddenly easier to breathe, like a cool breeze has swept through and cleared the air.

Dick glances around taking in the leather chairs and the books lining the walls, Dick laughs breathlessly. “We’re in the study.”

Startled, Jason does a half turn to look around the room to confirm Dick’s words. It’s a little gratifying seeing that Jason is struggling to regain his own bearings. “Oh,” Jason says,  scratching the back of his head. He gives Dick a foolish grin. The sheepish crease of his cheeks, the light in his teal eyes, the wet slide of his tongue over his lips, everything about Jason makes Dick’s heart ache so sweetly.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while, but I'm here. This story is not abandoned. In fact, it's actually complete. Huzzah! And the best news is this chapter marks the last of the new content. Everything else is just me polishing, hoping it'll shine for you.
> 
> I want to thank everyone who's read this story and came back for more.

The next morning, Dick wakes with Jason on his mind, Jason’s taste in his mouth, Jason’s name on the tip his tongue. He rolls beneath the covers cock warm against his thighs. One move and he’ll be embarrassed in a way he experienced in years. Since he lived in the manor. Since before Jason even came to their home. He’d rather not try to sneak around and wash his own clothes, not when there’s so many more shifters in the house now. He draws a deep breath and another, willing his mind to relax, forcing away all thoughts from last night, Jason’s lips, his hands, the hot, wet slide of his open mouth along Dick’s neck. Dick clears his head. Eventually.

Sitting up in his bed, he stretches, feeling refreshed but also unsettled, over-heated. He drinks the rest of his water from the cup on the nightstand. It sits heavily in his belly, then starts to churn like water on the boil. His skin feels tight, hot, tiny nails scraping over his skin. He needs another shower. A cold shower. But he also needs to move. He needs.

Dick’s sliding out of the bed, crossing the room, opening the door before he realizes it, like he’s being urged to leave and find—

“Jason,” he breathes, staring at the handsome face that looks puzzled by his sudden appearance. Jason blinks at him stupidly, seemingly coming out of a daze. He opens his sleep softened mouth and Dick darts forward.

Jason moans into the kiss, loudly, sucking on Dick’s tongue the second it slices between his lips. He folds his fingers around Dick’s waist holding him steady, keeping the scant inches between them while the kiss deepens, like the previous night never ended, and Dick and Jason struggle to take each other apart in the simplest of ways.

“Mmm. MM. Wow.” Jason pulls away, breathless. “Good morning.”

Dick runs a hand through his hair and smiles, cheeks painfully hot. “Good morning. It’s early,” he says, a possible explanation for his behavior, but Jason doesn’t see it that way.

“I was just waiting here, kind of awkwardly, for you to come out so I could ask if you wanted to go for a run. Not that. But I am not complaining. I didn’t knock because I was pretty sure you weren’t awake yet. Although you, ah. I thought you might be awake.” Jason blushed now. Obviously, he smelled Dick’s arousal. Dick bravely ignores the implication.

“I think a run would be good,” he says. “How about the 10k loop down to the shore and back.”

“Good. Great. Meet you in twenty?”

“Yeah.” Dick stands still when Jason trails hands up his spine and over his shoulders, fingers light at his jaw where he deposits a close-mouthed kiss. His stomach trembles. That feeling is still there, hazy and warm all around him, and he’s embarrassed by it, how it seems to have ruled him just now.

 

* * *

 

Across the manor grounds, autumn swiftly overcomes the landscape turning leaves the color of a riotous fire. Dick and Jason jog together. Their feet beat in tandem, a steady refrain over the footpaths that haven’t seen them together in years. Not since Dick, Jason, and Alfred were the only humans living at the manor.

It feels easy, comfortable now, moving together. The stirring urge in Dick’s chest from before has settled and Jason seems relaxed in the bond. It’s strange how he went from the dreamy needful state to embarrassed to calm. Some of it is the bond, sure, but Dick thinks that it’s always been that way with Jason.

Jason’s relationship with the family has always been complicated. He’d been an orphan when Bruce took him in, a survivor of Gotham’s ravenous streets and their underserviced foster system. For three days, Jason had been the quietest, most benign kid Dick had ever met. That had changed when Bruce came loping into the tv room one night to rest his head on Dick’s knee. With the secret out, Jason became the clever, obnoxious, challenging friend Dick had come to love. God, he’d loved Jason so much. Jason had been a livewire that jolted everyone and everything, with his quick wit, the way he challenged everything. Jason questioned the entire world and loved getting answers in return so he could question them too.

Jason had questions about his parents, names on a paper, he’d called them, when he discovered they’d carried the shifter gene. Things had changed then. He became quieter, more moody, and shoved away Dick’s hand like he never had before. Dick remembers sitting on the kitchen counter, drumming his heels while broaching the subject with Alfred. Alfred had said, “Family is ever a complicated matter, Master Dick, and I would hazard Master Jason is feeling rather bereft of both his families at this time,” and Dick had taken those words to heart, planted them deep down and can see the fruit they’ve borne.

Back then, Dick tried to be the family Jason needed, but Jason spurned him at every turn choosing to spend all his time in Bruce’s cave searching for some clue to his heritage. He wanted to know how he had come by the shifter gene. He wanted to know why he wasn’t a shifter himself. Eventually, Jason concluded that Bruce’s help wasn’t enough, wasn’t fast enough and couldn’t provided the right answers. The fight was epic, ending with Bruce howling on the manor lawn early in the morning after discovering Jason had absconded in the night. Their small pack had searched frantically for days that turned to weeks that turned to months.

Jason never came home.

Bruce had been devastated and the family rocked when none of Bruce’s resources could find a trace of Jason anywhere.

Somewhere during this time, Dick became a police officer. He’d joined for a myriad of reasons, he believed in the call to serve and protect, but there was also the benefits of being eyes and ears on the force to help increase Bruce’s activities. But mostly, Dick joined the force on the off chance that something would break in Jason’s long cold case. He’d magically find the right clue, talk to the right person, turn the right corner and Jason would be there. Dick knew he’d be the one to bring Jason home.

And he was, nearly three years later, although those circumstances had nothing to do with his prowess, but rather, Dick stumbling into shift change early as a favor and being sent to the right call.

Then Jason came back to them, 19-years-old, battered, bloody, and able to turn into the wolf. The struggle he had endured existing as a shifter when the only thing he’d ever been was human, had been so difficult. Watching Jason learn how to be in the world again after he'd abducted for so long, had been frightening. And so Dick found himself pouring all of his energies into finding ways to do more, to protect more, to help as many people as he could however much he could. And when that only went so far, Dick found a new goal. If he could become a detective, then he’d really make a difference. In this way he could ensure no family had to suffer the same as theirs did. He’d solve the crimes. He’d create the cases. He’d ensure justice.

Now he’s thinking about putting that little dream on hold.

Dick listens to his feet thud on the ground while he begins the trails steepest climb. Just ahead, Jason uses his considerably longer legs to take big strides up the hill leaving Dick behind. He grits his teeth and picks up speed remembering a time when he was the one in front. His muscles burn and his heart pounds giving him the right amount of focus as he tries to sort it all out.

In the end, it comes back to Jason. Always Jason. He became a cop because of Jason. He wants to become a detective because of Jason. Is he really this entangled? Has all his decisions been ruled by this one person in his life? No, Dick concludes. He stands in a far greater shadow but sometimes it seems like everything is about Jason. His life. His choices. His highs. His lows. It’s like that’s all he ever is anymore. And it feels like it’s all he ever will be.

“What’s wrong?”

Dick blinks, looking up to find Jason keeping pace at his side. They’ve crested the hill reaching the gentle downward slope on the backend of Wayne Manor between the defunct orchard and the extensive gardens. “Sorry. Nothing’s wrong. Just thinking.”

“About the case?”

“No,” Dick pants slowing a little. “Not really about the case.”

Jason also slows. “You can talk to me, you know? I actually want you to do that.”

Dick considers Jason’s request. “It’s really not about the case. It’s just that.” Dick pauses unsure exactly what he’d want to say and how to say it. “My sarge called me into the office the other day. He wanted to know why I wasn’t applying for the detective’s exam.”

“You?” Jason frowns at him. “You’re not applying this year? After all the studying you’ve done. Why the hell not?”

Dick shrugs, feeling some annoyance surging through from the questions. From the way Jason lopes beside him hardly winded. “Just need a break.”

Jason makes a disbelieving noise. “You don’t take breaks.”

“I do when I’m tired,” Dick mutters. He takes a calming breath. “What’re you up to today?”

Jason grins like he’s excited for the change in topic. “I’m going to run with the Foxes tonight. B-team stuff on the whole trafficking angle for your case.” If he had a tail, it’d be wagging.

“My case?”

“Well. Bruce’s angle. Your case. Same thing isn’t it?”

“No. Bruce’s angle is dangerous, Jay, and illegal.” Dick sighs. “I thought you didn’t want to be a part of it. You never did before.” He means before when Jason was stubbornly vocal about staying out of Bruce’s vendetta. He’d said it was strange that Bruce had all the money and time to make a difference and he chose to spend it in the shadows. Like everything, Jason’s attitude must have changed. Dick just doesn’t remember when it happened.

“What does it matter? You help with pack business and you’re a fucking police officer. You break laws six ways to Sunday.” Jason holds up a finger. “And don’t you dare say anything about the greater good. I can't believe I'm about to point this out,” he mutters.

“Point what out?”

“That you can be a big fucking hypocrite!" The words explode from Jason's mouth sending shockwaves through Dick. "Go on,” Jason continues. “Tell me why it’s okay that you do it and not me.”

“Because I’m only human, Jason. That’s it. I’m human, no shifter genes, no receptors. In a sea of exceptional people, I am the most average person you know. And that’s fine. That’s good. I don’t stand out too much, I don’t make waves, and that has allowed me to help so many people in ways the world will never recognize.

“What’s more, I’m not the one who went missing, Jason. We don’t even know how closely this is linked with your abduction.” He shakes his head already planning to tell Bruce he’s firmly against this. “You’re not going.”

“What do you mean 'linked with my abduction'?”

“It’s an ongoing case, Jay. You know I can’t tell you the details.”

Jason breaks stride and slows to a stop. Dick turns, jogging backwards slowly. “What’s wrong? Cramp?”

“No.” Jason walks forward a strained look on his face. “You’re doing it again,” he says.”

“Doing what?”

“Cutting me out. Keeping things hidden. Damnit, Dick, I thought we actually, I don’t know. I thought we hit one of your hidden milestones last night, but you’re back to treating me like a kid.”

“No,” Dick says slowly. “I’m not.”

“It sure feels like it. You’re definitely not treating me like your mate. I mean. Come on. You’re always, Mr. ‘Let’s Talk,’ but when it comes to you and what’s going on in your life, you clam up tighter than your asshole and.” Jason stops short, wincing. “Sorry.”

Dick’s glares at him through narrowed eyes. “Oh no, Jason please continue,” he says sharply. “Keep showing me why I should share my personal and professional struggles with you. This demonstration of maturity is certainly changing my mind.”

Jason takes a deep breath like he's the one needing to moderate his emotions. Jason and not Dick whose anger is rising like mercury. “Look, that one was on me. Uncalled for. Whatever. I’m sorry. But don’t pretend like I’m someone you can make out with and then go back to thinking you can’t share big things with me. Haven’t I shown you that I’m here for you, Dick?” Jason pleads with his eyes, gold rings shining as he wills Dick to say yes, yes, of course Jason.

“I talk to you,” Dick says stiffly. “We talk.”

“No we don’t.

“Jason. We talk.”

“No we don’t. Not about you! Nothing about you. Not without a fight.” Jason scrubs a hand through his hair in frustration. “I have to pin you down before you say anything. And even then it’s like, you won’t really tell me what’s going on. Then you change subject. We’re always. It’s always coming back to me. I’m the thing you worry about. I’m the problem you have to deal with. I’m the mess you have to fix. But I don’t know shit about you and what you’re going through.”

Dick reaches for the heat tightening around his heart, Jason's fears, his frustration mixing with Dick's anger. “Jason.”

“Stop. Don’t do that calming thing. You won’t let me sniff you out, you won’t let me touch the bond, and you won’t fucking talk to me. How is this going to work if you don’t tell me what it is you’re so afraid of?”

 _You_. The word is on the tip of Dick’s tongue, but he can’t let it escape him, not after how brilliantly they’ve hurt each other in the span of five minutes. He tries to calm down and focus on where this is coming from. “Jason. Come on. Why are we arguing like this?” He looks at him closely. “Is it your rut? This is the most intimate we’ve been and--”

“Oh my fucking god!” Jason shouts. “I get real sick of you asking about it all the time. Every move I make and you ask me about my rut. Can’t I just like you? Can’t I just want _you_? Can’t I just be the guy you trust? Want to be with? Fuck, Dick.” Cheeks flushed, Jason stares at him after his outburst, stares and stares, and Dick doesn’t know what to say.

“You are,” he whispers, but too much time has passed. Jason’s already shaking his head and backing away. “Jason. You are. Just stay here. We can talk this out.”

Jason laughs, a bitter sound. “Sure we can.” He turns on his heel and races into the woodline. His pale back soon disappears amidst the deep foliage.

 

* * *

 

After twenty minutes of searching the woods, Dick finds Jason's shorts and running shoes haphazardly lying on the ground. He takes another lap around the area calling his name, shouting for Jason to come back to him, just come back, but Jason doesn't come. Dick returns to the manor with those few things balled in his hands and a cloak of anger pulled over his shoulders. Another hour of waiting and the alarm on his phone rings. The job, the case, Jason. They all roll together in his head.

Dick leaves for Bludhaven after returning to the manor. He imagines folding his emotions into a fist while he explains his abrupt departure, saying he needs to get his head back into the case from his job’s side, the legal side.

No one questions him. No one comments on the obvious absence at his side, not even Damian, and Dick laughs to himself as he heads out the door. Because he’s so transparent to everyone except the one who matters most.

The tight band that has been wrapped around his chest since Jason left him on the path dissipates after an hour. The nausea disappears in two. The ache in his heart remains, but that’s fine. Dick can manage heartache, he thinks, sitting on his couch staring at his cellphone. It hasn’t rang once since he came back to the apartment. Not that Dick’s keen on calling Jason himself. It will be best to take a day or two and figure out exactly what he’s feeling. What he and Jason will do next. And he can do it best here, away from the pack when he’s clear-headed and sure.

Two days later and he’s questioning the power of the bond again. Does it really matter how it started so long as he and Jason fit so perfectly together now? He’s not sure how to ask Jason that question when he doesn’t know the answer himself.

The case begins to slow, detectives freezing Dick out, leads drying slowly. He finds himself pulled back onto other investigations, regular patrol work. He’s so busy that sometimes he can’t bother to pick up the phone.

But that doesn’t seem to matter when Jason is so far away.

Let someone else wait for awhile.


	7. Chapter 7

Dick wakes to a shrill beeping ring tone. He casts around for the phone blindly, knocking over a cup and a file resting on the nightstand before answering.

“Grayson,” he answers after coughing he sleep from his throat. He jumps when a harsh voice barks into his ear.

“This is Sergeant Blake with your early morning wake up call. Your shift starts in one hour.”

The words coming from his sergeant, Dick hears them, understands them, yet they don’t make sense. “Sir,” he says. “I’m off rotation.”

“Yeah. And I’m here to tell you that you’re back on.” The sergeant sounds equal parts weary and exasperated. “The shifters in the industrial park? They weren’t the only ones.”

The last of Dick’s drowsiness evaporates at those words. He reaches over the side of the bed snatches his pair of boxers from the floor. He steps into them and pulls them up in one fluid motion on the way to the bathroom. “Where?”

“Another abandoned building in the park. The site is in an older lot, one set for demolition. Twelve hours and we would be without a crime scene.” Blake sighs. “We need officers to patrol the perimeter just in case the workers try something.”

“So, what? You’re calling me in for guard duty, sir?” Dick rolls his eyes.

“Straighten out that attitude before you get here, Grayson! If I’m not going to take it from Feliciado, what make you think I’ll take it from you?”

“Yes sir,” Dick says. “Sorry sir.”

“You’re as sharp as any detective, Grayson, and the department understands that you know the shifter community better than anyone. They want you to rejoin the task force. Outreach, lead generation, anything to help us figure out who these bastards are and how to stop them. But Grayson, there’s a price.”

There always is, Dick thinks, but he says, “I’m ready to do my duty, sir.”

“Always with the right answer,” Blake says, mulling over the follow up. Whatever Dick has to do can’t be that bad if Blake hasn’t blistered the air with his curses. “There’s a press conference in an hour. The brass wants some familiar faces in the room. Good faces that the community can trust.”

And who better than the BPD’s Golden boy shined up and placed on the stage.

Dick stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The eyes staring back at him are alert, ready. “Okay. I’m coming in.”

“You do that. And Grayson, clean up for the cameras.”

 

* * *

 

The city’s media room is in the main municipal complex downtown. It usually sees no more than thirty media representatives at any given time, but this morning, the enclosed room and stage is packed with members of the local press and national affiliates. From his position at the edge of the room, Dick can pick out badges from the Daily Planet, the Gotham Tribune, and the New York Times.

Dick struggles not to tug at the stiff collar wrapped around his neck or adjust his hat to hide more of his face.

The press had written several pieces around Bruce Wayne’s adopted son joining the Bludhaven Police during his first year on the force. The stories started as gossip fodder spinning tales of rebellion, disenchantment, and disinheritance. Overtime, and with a few well-publicized outreach efforts toward shifters, Dick had become one of the faces for community policing with his picture appearing from security details at basketball games and homecoming parades. The brass called it “paying his dues,” and Dick smiled for the cameras when he could until it became clear that he was serious about police work and that Bruce Wayne had not surgically removed him from the family.

At 9 am, the Chief of Police, station captain, media coordinator, and several other city officials take the stage. Like the other officers in attendance, they are dressed in their formal blue uniforms with their brass buttons polished and their shoes shined.

After the coordinator addresses the crowd and fields questions for after the prepared statement, the chief climbs to the microphone.

“On August 1,” the chief begins, the voice gravid and staid. “Officers discovered the bodies of four victims at a location that will remain undisclosed at this time. We have identified certain similarities between this location and the one discovered on Jul 25.” A ripple of sound flows through the crowd. “Due to the severity of these crimes, a special joint-task force has been assembled consisting of state police and BPD detectives and patrolman. We will also be working with surrounding agencies. BPD cannot disclose details regarding the perpetrator of these events as this is an ongoing investigation; however, we are making every available effort to restore peace to our community and bring justice to these victims.

“Make no mistake, this killer or killers are of a cruel mind. They are targeting a small but vibrant part of our city’s population and we are doing everything we can to put an end to this menace.

“We are asking all of our shifter citizens to use extreme caution when venturing out alone. Please contact the 911 center or our community hotline if you feel that yourself or the lives of others have been threatened. If you have any information regarding suspicious activities in your neighborhood that specifically target shifter communities, please contact the 911 center or our community hotline. In this time of crisis, we must come together. The BPD will continue to serve and protect our city and our homes.”

The weight of the statement sits heavily in the room. The quiet of the statement is broken by flashing cameras and the tapping of nails and fingers on screens updating news feeds and taking notes. Then the chief opens the floor to questions, and the silence upends in a roar.

“Are all the victims shifters?”

“Have any of the victims been identified?”

“How will your department address the growing concerns of shifter communities?”

“With the additional site found, will the department classify this cass as a mass killing or a serial crime?”

The questions are followed by responses that echoes some previous part of the prepared statement. It’s a dance timing the answer to grind down time, release enough details to alert the public but not communicate how much law enforcement knows or doesn’t know. But the bottom line is this: people have been kidnapped, experimented upon, and left to die alone in cages.

Dick lets the droning call and response wash over him. Slowly, over the course of fifteen minutes, the questions begin to fade. The conference should be done soon, he thinks, but one journalist stands up.

“Is it true there’s a survivor?”

The chief pauses. “Excuse me?”

“Is it true that BPD recovered a survivor from the first incident site? The one that occurred on August eighth?”

“There were no survivors,” says the chief, repeating what Dick and the other officers who located the first victims reported.

“Are you sure? Because and I quote, ‘officers found a white male victim had extensive injuries that included multiple sores and abrasions, surgical scarring, signs of blunt force trauma,” the reporter continues reeling off a list of injuries that Dick knew by heart, by touch. In his mind’s eye, Dick saw two bodies slumped and still on the ground, similar in size, shape with the same torturous marks cutting down their bodies, but Dick knows the differences. He knows the truth.

The reporter is detailing Jason’s injuries.

Simply hearing about those wounds brings Dick to that moment so easily. It comes to him in a dizzying wave, Jason when he was first recovered, rescued, returned. There was no one word to describe the first terrifying moment of joy and the horrible realization that followed in the passing days. Pale, scarred and gaunt like a walking dead, his beautiful blue eyes edged in gold, his skin stretched pale over his heavy bones like a drum. Jason had offered him a thin, bloody smile and said, “hey Dickie. I’m home.” Dick had been afraid to touch him, too afraid that Jason might disappear away like a nightmare before the dawn. But he did anyway despite his fears.

Dick forces himself to relax his jaw and uncurl his fingers. He forces himself to think beyond the past to now. That file is supposed to remain out of the public record. No reporter should have access to it. And Bruce made it clear that he disappeared all traces of Jason’s return with all the means he had at his disposal. None of that matters though because Dick will be the one to protect him now.

“I’m going to stop you right there, son. If you recall, our department first discovered the first site in July, but you are referencing a date of August first." The chief's anger is a heavy thing. "The information you are so cavalierly reading is detailed from a closed case-file from the Gotham Police Department. The details had not been related to the public and that individual’s identity has not been disclosed.”

“We will take a few more questions that are not related to this topic.” The captain does well to wrestle the reporters back to the city’s agenda, but there’s blood in the water and the journalists circle slowly to what they want to know.

The questions go on for another ten minutes before the press conference ends. The room is still abuzz with tension that creeps through Dick’s uniform, crawls down his spine. He escapes at the earliest possible moment, climbing into his car. His phone is in his hands before Dick even realizes. He clamps down on the tight agitation spinning in his chest, fights instinct and dials the third name that comes to mind.

His partner picks up on the second ring.

“You at the station?” Dick asks, sure that Bains is already there. If Dick had been called in, his partner would be too.

“Yeah. It’s fucking crazy here, Grayson. We only have a few hours before everything gets locked down by the task force.”

“We’re on the task force, but I hear you. Anything we can do now?”

“Maybe. There were two names you were following up. Cordelia Graves and.” There’s a pause as Bains flips through his pages of notes. It’s one of the things Dick’s likes about his partner. He writes things down, goes back and reads them, and makes sense of the connections. “Rolanda Nelson. Nelson. I think she was a genuine article. Church on Sunday and Wednesday, worked as a paralegal at a good firm, mentored with for her sorority, and get this. She did weekly outreach with a certain shelter for shifters. She seems well liked, loved even. And that’s why she’s going to break this case for us.”

“Have you contacted the shelter?”

“You know it. We got a meeting with the staff at three.”

Dick grins. “My boy Friday coming through for the win.”

“Yeah, yeah. And what has my esteemed partner been doing all morning? Catching up on his beauty sleep?”

“Why does everyone assume that sleep is my secret? I’m on my way in. Give me twenty.”

“Bring me some coffee. The good kind. With a quad shot and extra whip.”

“You got it.”

Back at the station, Dick collapses into his seat. He’s been on his feet for far longer than today’s conference, parades, patrols, football games, hours standing and walking, but he hasn’t felt this drained in a while, and there’s still so much to do.

Loosening his tie, Dick logs into his laptop to begin a slow, indirect search for John Does or other victims that fall within Jason’s core demographics. He burns an hour searching, but it’s as he suspected. No case file or attached records with the Gotham City PD’s report on Jason exist within BPD’s system.

Since there’s time before he and his partner head over to the shelter, Dick decides to look through the preliminary crime scene reports.

The information is straightforward if sparse. First on scene detailed their movements from receiving the initial dispatch to finding five bodies, each tentatively identified as shifter. He copies the information down for Bruce’s investigation.

Some days Dick questioned Bruce’s underground activities, the way he moved outside the law, and Dick’s willingness to help him break it. Because make no mistake, it’s illegal to run covert operations that break trafficking rings, to relocate shifters in need, to right the wrongs of a broken system, no matter how much good they do. At the same time, Dick is reduced to searching through pictures of another set of victims reduced to lab subjects, tortured and stripped of their humanity, their faces twisted in pain, their eyes blank in death. Yeah. Today is not one of those days.

His phone buzzes several times in rapid succession. Texts. They’re from Jason.

 **I saw the press conference  
** **Don’t ignore my call**  
**Please**


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't kidding about this story being complete and updates becoming regular until the end....
> 
> Enjoy!

Dick clutches the phone tightly in his hands when it rings a few minutes later. He says, “This is Grayson,” and feels his heart flip when there’s no reply. “Jay?”

There’s a moment’s pause where Jason exhales and then inhales, and it feels like forever. Dick’s knee begins to jiggle beneath the desk and his chest burns. His very last breath trapped behind his teeth. When Jason finally says his name, finally, it feels as if Dick can breathe again.

“Hey,” Dick says. “You guys were watching?”

“We all were. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I wanted you to know that I’m okay.”

Relief fills Dick at those words coming so swift he feels light-headed. He closes his eyes. “And Bruce?”

The sigh washing through the phone reminds Dick of coastal waters at home, churning and cold. “Yeah. Of course. Bruce.” Another pause and Jason says. “Heads were about to roll for a minute, but there’s no connection between me and the report. I think we’re safe.”

“That’s good. That’s good.” A slow ache grows in Dick’s chest, a simple sadness as he realizes how much he’s missed this, Jason’s concern, Jason’s voice. “I checked the records when I got back to the station. It didn’t get out through our systems.”

“Should you even be talking about that right now?”

“Probably not. I just wanted you to know that I’m.” Dick trails away mid-thought. He wants Jason to know that he’s trying to take care of him? Keeping him safe? Still thinking of him? It’s all true, all seems right, like Dick’s actions always do, but everything feels wrong, tainted with this pressure that winds around his heart like string. He tugs at the hair brushing across his forehead. “I’m going to find out what happened.”

“Yeah. You and Bruce will run it down soon enough.” The next words tumble out in a rush. “We can talk about it tonight if you want.”

Tonight? “What?”

“Come home tonight, Dick. They called you in, right? That means you’ll get the morning off. Probably won’t have to be back at the station until four,” Jason says, showing his command of Dick’s schedule is better than Dick’s own. Still, the idea isn’t a good one.

It’s tightly wound chaos around the station. Officers move from one update to the next, sit through briefing after briefing of information so thin you can see through it. Tension rests in the corner of everybody’s eyes, including Dick’s and he can’t see how going home will help when his worries are magnified whenever Jason’s near. “It’s pretty much all hands on deck here.” Dick hedges.

“Come on. You haven’t been to the manor in days. And don’t ask about my fucking rut,” Jason says, frustration edging into his voice. “I just want to see you?” His voice becomes small. “I miss you.”

Dick closes his eyes. “I miss you too.”

“Then come home.”

“Jay… I—”

Over a year ago, when Dick finally accepted he and Jason were bound, irrevocably, utterly, he suggested they start figuring out their new lives guided by two principles: total honesty and complete trust. He said it would help them through the transition. It did, mostly, once Jason embraced talking to Dick and Dick, well, his misery spirals never lasted long anyway. And he thinks he’s been honest with Jason, far more than any of his other relationships, an issue he doesn’t think on too often. He finds himself not wanting to be honest right now, because he wants to keep Jason safe, protect him and his feelings more than Dick’s own.

Since their fight, Dick has found himself questioning it all over again, the bond. He’s not sure what to say to him, can’t find the words to explain, or how to stop this cycle. They come together and it feels wonderful, then they break apart, and Dick feels stranded wondering if it’s him, his feelings, or the bond. Those thoughts always lead to something bitter welling inside. He can’t see Jason now when he’s struggling with the answer. Not when every interaction feels like a bandaid ripping from a wound, a pain sweetly seeping from their bond.

He doesn’t know why he always struggles with the answer.

Dick curls towards the phone. “Look, I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can make it in tonight. This case. I’m working it from both ends. Don’t make this any harder for me right now. Please.”

“Fine,” Jason growls before hanging up. Disappointment nearly cleaves Dick in half. He recognizes that he’s too far away for the pain to be caused by the bond, but it feels like Jason, small and achingly quiet in his chest.

“You alright there, partner?”

Dick finds his Bains staring from across his desk, flinty eyes concerned. “I’ll be fine.”

“If you say so.” Bains snatches the keys from his desk and stands. “Let’s get a move on, heartbreaker.”

 

* * *

 

The shelter is in Garvy, an aging community south of Bludhaven’s shipping corridor just scant miles from the industrial park. The squat, brick building anchors a quiet block with a pawn shop, corner store, and narrow pizza place as its neighbors. Across the street sits a park.

There’s a mural on the far wall of the building’s entrance. The vibrant street art shows a community holding hands reaching to the sky. It’s a hopeful message, but there doesn’t seem to be many around to see it. Inside, the shelter’s message is muted by harsh, blue florescent light buzzing in their fixtures. Several patrons shuffle in and out of a common room area to an open corridor on the right. There’s no conversations to be heard only the droning audience gasps during a daytime court show.

After talking to the desk clerk, Dick and Bains linger in the entrance of the common room and watch the latest verdict.

“And he has to pay damages?” Bains laughs. “Can you believe people think that’s what real justice is?”

Dick watches the drama unfold on screen. “I don’t know. Sometimes justice is what we make it.”

“You mean we made that?” A derisive snort. “I heard that the settlements are already decided before they even see the judge. It’s just theater at that point. Legal wrestlemania.”

Dick shrugs. He doesn’t see that much of a difference between Judge “You’ve been benched” Bench and the court of public perception that happens during the 24 hour news cycle. There’s law and there’s order and everyday it seems to get more out of line. But justice is still something to pursue. It’s real, unassailable, and should be fought for. Rather than say it, Dick cuts a grin at his partner. “You sound awful invested in this.”

“It’s not me, man. My mom loves this shit.”

“Yeah, sure,” Dick begins, ready to bust his partner’s taste in television, when his phone rings. The cheery pop music seems out of place in the staid ambiance of the shelter.

“You are popular today.”

“I’m popular every day.” Dick affects a concerned look when he sees the caller. “But hold on, okay. It’s my security company.”

“You need to move out of the north side, Grayson. I tell you that all the time.”

“I have faith that my local precinct will protect me.”

Bains laughs. “You? Maybe. Your stuff? Not so much.”

Dick steps outside to take the call. The Wayne Tech phone he carries has more than a few off-market applications, including the ability of monitoring the complex security system Bruce had in place to protect his underground shifter network. But the feed Dick pulls up isn’t one of the many safe houses. The posh Midtown Gotham apartment is listed as the home of Todd Peterson and Brice Wynne.

His first instinct is to call Jason. He corrects it as he dials, calling Bruce instead. But the first question out of his mouth is, “Where is Jason?”

“At the manor last I heard. Is there a problem? Do you need me to fetch it?” Bruce’s tone is casual, his questions vague. He’s not alone.

“Something tripped the sensors at the Wynne-Peterson address. I wanted to make sure it wasn’t one of us checking in.”

“Not that I’m aware of, but I can have someone over to in a few minutes.”

Dick shakes his head. “Don’t worry about sending one of the pack. I can check it out once I’m off duty.”

“Alright,” Bruce says. “But if you’re in Gotham, come by the manor. I have some information about that transportation issue that you may find useful. I’m in New York for an emergency meeting with some of our anxious shareholders and will return this evening.”

Dick sighs. “Yeah, sure. I can do that.”

“Good. See you tonight.”

He returns to find his partner chatting with a handsome, red-haired woman wearing a teal sweater and gray slacks. The smile lines around her mouth and eyes defy her age.

“I’m sorry for the delay,” he says, extending his hand.

“This is my partner, Officer Grayson,” says Bains, starting the introduction.

“Vanessa Price,” she says, shaking Dick’s hand firmly. “Come back into my office.”

Within minutes of sitting in Vanessa’s office, Dick can tell that she’s a shrewd woman who has worked tirelessly in the broken cogs of Bludhaven’s social programs. She seems wary of their reasons for being at the shelter but also relieved to see them as well, making it very clear that shelter’s residents have been made aware of the current threat. She also announced that their records are available for investigative purposes, but they would have to abide by the proper channels to see information on past and present residents. Dick almost hates to disabuse her of the idea that he and his partner are searching for a specific suspect in their midst.

Instead, Dick pulls out a picture from the small file folder he carried and places it on the desk. “Are you familiar with this person?”

“That’s Rolanda. Rolanda Nelson.” Vanessa looks at the picture then back at them, horror growing on her face. “Oh no,” she whispers. “Please tell me that Rolanda isn’t. Please.”

“When was the last time you saw Ms. Nelson?”

“It was a mid-June,” Vanessa says after composing herself. “Rolanda came in to tell me that she was going to take a brief break from her volunteering. She runs several workshops to help our residents. Job preparedness, connecting people to legal aid, and.” Vanessa pauses, licking her lips. “Ran. She ran several.”

“Did she share her reasons for why she needed a break?”

“Well. It can be stressful taking on the burdens of others when you have so many yourself. She and her partner, her girlfriend, they were considering starting their family again, and Rolanda. She. She wanted.” Her voice wavers.

Dick breaks in smoothly. “I think we understand, Mrs. Price. Can you walk me through more of her work here? How did she interact with your residents?”

They spend the better part of the hour building a fuller picture of Rolanda Nelson. She seemed well-liked, appreciated, an unofficial part of the shelter’s employees and established herself as someone trusted within the community. Vanessa handed over various documents that Nelson had made, short advertisements and worksheets to help with her workshop. Slowly, the conversation turns to the shelter itself and how it connects to the network of social service programs, homes, shelters, and halfway houses. They’re a dying source of community services in the ‘haven, funding pulled, buildings closing, and rarely reopened. Vanessa acknowledges the shifter connection, mostly elderly who lost their homes or youths, runaways.

Rolanda had a workshop for them as well. It was something of a health and safety, know your shifter medical history seminar. Very helpful for younger people. There was a clinical professional that came in with her sometime last year. Very pleasant woman. They also did another workshop, not here, but it was also shifter related. Hold on, I think I have a flyer.”

While their lead rummages through her files once again, Dick fights to keep a tight grin from appearing on his face. He can feel it, a tingle shooting through his body telling him that this is it. The tension in the room rises affecting even Bains whose pencil scratches move a little faster, as if he’s racing against a feeling of anticipation.

“Here it is.” Vanessa hands over a sheet of paper. It’s less an advertisement of a workshop than an invitation to join a support group. Dick scans the page pulling together two important details: the target audience are shifters who are “embarking on life’s adventure” by starting a family and the co-sponsor is Cordelia Graves. Although the majority of the sessions take place at a single address, there are a few other site locations for the seminars, including one taking place tonight in Gotham City.

“Do you mind if we take this?” Dick asks passing the paper to his partner. He’s careful to keep his gaze on Vanessa, to keep his voice even when he feels strained. This is their connection, he can feel it.

“Of course.”

They stay for a few more minutes and arrange for a follow up to speak to any residents who could help them in their investigation.

Once they return to the car, Dick and his partner breathe a heavy sigh.

“What did I tell you?” Bain asks.

Dick smiles. “You said she was the one.”

“And Nelson was the one.”

 

* * *

 

Dick and Bains spend the next two hours following up on the Nelson angle. The visit the address listed as the support group’s main meeting place and find an office building with frosted glass doors and well-manicured shrubbery. Unfortunately, they’re unable to contact anyone within the building who knew either Graves or Nelson, even in passing. The room itself hadn’t been used in several weeks. They manage to get in contact with the building owners and set up an interview for following afternoon as well as a walk through.

After a few more stops, Dick and Bains return to the precinct, ready to update their case files and call it a day.

Dick has been idly contemplating going to tonight’s meeting location in Gotham just to see if people shows up. It could be a clue to bring them one step closer to the truth. And he can check on the apartment on his way in. Two birds one stone. He’ll follow up at the manor afterwards and update Bruce. Spend time with the pack. Find some way to make things right with Jason.

Dick heads to Gotham after leaving work. The hundred miles between Bludhaven and Gotham nearly triple as Dick weaves through traffic with a heavy to-do list in his mind. The case. His dual investigations. The last words he said to Jason, it all circles through his mind.

Finally, he arrives in midtown, where the fog rolls heavily from the bay. It looks beautiful, the moon nearly full in the sky. It’s so strange that even after how desperate Dick had been to strike out on his home, returning to Gotham fills him with such a sense of peace. Home.

Once he’s secure in the parking garage, Dick logs into the security feed. There hasn’t been another unauthorized attempt on the door since that afternoon. He hops out of his car and heads to the elevator riding the up to the twelfth floor where he exists.

Something feels off. Dick senses it the moment he reaches the apartment door. He unlocks it slowly securing the keys so they don’t jingle and opening the door as quietly as he can. The hallway light is on. The balcony light is on. Dick pulls his gun from its holster, checks the safety, and begins a slow sweep of the room entrance and hallway. He rounds to the kitchen and freezes.

“Jason?”

“You can stop pointing that thing at me anytime, Mister Officer.” Jason pops another grape into his mouth. He looks tired, a little drawn, but neutral, like he doesn’t share the sudden ache Dick feels. It’s only been days but Dick feels like he must drink Jason in, the sight of him water for his thirsty heart.

Dick holsters his gun. “What are you doing here?”

“Bruce sent me this afternoon. Said you got some activity about the place. I decided that Todd should make an appearance for the evening. So, I got some groceries and I’ve been hanging out ever since.” Jason’s feet began to swing a little from his perch on the kitchen island. “Didn’t know this place was so sick. I would’ve been here all the time.”

“It’s part of SearchLight Holdings,” Dick explains, referring to one of the resource fronts the pack uses to increase property options for Gotham’s median to low income families. “Why’d Bruce send you? I said I’d handle it.”

“Why is water wet? Who knows why Bruce does what he does half the time.” Jason tugs another grape from its stem. “Maybe he wanted me to make sure my packmate had back up if things were about to go down.”

That catches Dick’s attention. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know all the details, but do you remember the traffic ring he was looking into?”

“The line of shifters being brought in and out of Gotham? Yeah.”

“The state highway patrol busted a truck about six months back. One of the original victims was part of that raid. Bruce tracked down the money behind those shipments and is planning on running a little op tonight. See if they can find anything around the shipping fleet’s hq.”

“Okay,” Dick says, slowly. “This is the op you’re joining.”

“Yes and no. I was going to be back up with the Foxes but someone didn’t approve.” He says the last word with distaste. “So, I’m not on tonight’s roster.”

Dick chooses to avoid that landmine. “That’s why he wanted me to come by the manor tonight.”

Jason laughs, a short barking sound. “Sure. That’s exactly it.”

“What’s so funny?”

“I was thinking he probably sent me out here to get out of his hair. I’ve been a real dick to be around lately. Making up in your absence, you see.” Jason hops down from the counter and winds his way over to him. Three feet. That’s the distance between them now and Dick feels a flare of heat wrapping around his body. The bond. Jason inhales sharply, color on his cheeks. He holds himself stiffly, mouth a harsh line, and this is what Dick has done to him.

Dick holds up his hands, a truce. “I didn’t come here to fight, Jason.”

Jason actually laughs. “You came in here with your gun drawn, Dickie.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t come here to fight with you.” Dick runs a hand through his hair tugging the dark strands. “I actually hate fighting with you, Jay. I always have. You’ve always kinda.” He stops eyes closing as he envisions the scrappy boy from long ago standing beside the man in front of him today. All the things that are different, all the ways he hasn’t changed. “You always had to fight for everything. You against the world.” He opens his eyes to find Jason staring at him. “I didn’t want to be in that category, you know?”

“I don’t even think I can place you in any category, Dickie. You won’t let me. I can’t ever get a handle on what you’re thinking or what you’re feeling.” Jason leans back, eyes heavy with contemplation. “And every time you look at me you feel sad, afraid. And I get it, Dick.” Jason steps closer. “I swear I do. None of us thought I’d make it back alive. Half the time I’m not sure this is even real.”

“No,” Dick says, voice scratchy. “We had hope. I had hope.”

Jason offers a wry smile. “Of course _you_ did. Now that fear, that sadness, I know it’s not for me. It’s for you.” He pauses but Dick cannot deny it fully. It’s for the both. “It took me a while to figure it out and then to stop being angry. Knowing there’s a part of you expecting me to just lash out and hurt you. It hurts me. It fucking hurts, because it’s true. I could hurt you.”

“That’s not it,” Dick says.

“Of course it is. I even bit you, like. How do you just lose control like that?” Jason shakes his head angrily. “I can’t explain it to myself. So, I get it, you’re afraid that when we. When I mate with you.”

“When we sleep together,” Dick whispers, contrary.

“When I hit my rut,” Jason snaps, a satisfied grin unfolding when Dick flinches. “You act like some fucking huge cock’s gonna break down your door and beat you up.”

“Jason!” Dick says, feeling a little scandalized. But also angry that Jason’s close but at the same time all wrong.

“You think I’m going to lose control, and there’s no way I can promise you it won’t happen.”

Dick grabs his hand and their touching now ending that last painful chasm between them. Jason makes a soft sound in his throat and his other hand clenches like he’s not sure where to put it. He looks at Dick closely as if searching for an answer. He’s always looked for Dick, always followed his lead. Dick feels his cheeks burn with shame. “I know that Jay, I know it. But I also know you wouldn’t hurt me. You’d never hurt me. I believe it. That’s not the issue at all.”

“Then what is it, Dick? Tell me. You said we needed to be honest with each other. We said that we needed to trust each other.” Jason jabbed his thumb into his chest. “Be honest with me. Trust me. Please.”

"I do. Jason, I do." Dick smooths down where Jason must be hurting, in his chest because it echoes through Dick. Beneath his shirt, Jason’s skin is warm, alive, pulse beating in a rhythm Dick feels all the way through to his bones. “I loved you before all this happened. Did you know that?”

Jason’s eyes widen as he stutters through a denial, so sweetly surprised, Dick laughs.

“It’s true. You were this scruffy looking tough guy that managed to bring us even closer together as a family. I needed that. I needed you.” He’d been so alone, always waiting for the pack. And then Jason came along. Waiting didn’t seem so bad when you had someone beside you.

Jason looks away still flustered. “I’m not really your brother, Dick.”

“I know. Believe me when I say that I don’t want you to be.” He reaches out and cups Jason’s cheek bringing him closer. Jason freezes, eyes growing round. His lips slide between his teeth, and Dick aches for him. “I just mean that you had a piece of my heart before you left. When you came back, I still loved you but everything happened.”

Jason ducks his head as if to hide, but Dick startles to feel Jason’s warm breath against his wrist, soft lips against his pulse. “If it makes you feel any better, I thought you were hot. Before I left. I thought you were pretty much perfect,” he confesses. “Then I came back and it changed. You’re everything now.” His gaze darts up to see Dick’s startled smile then drops again.

“Yes. It all changed. I had my Jason back, and then five seconds later, we bonded. I guess I’m trying to say that I was having a tough time sorting through what I felt before, what I feel through the bond.” Dick takes a quiet breath before pressing on. “And what I feel for you now.”

Jason tenses, a wire coiled and alive. “What do you feel now?”

“I feel everything, Jay. Everything you do, I feel it. Every moment we share is always on my mind. Every part of me is filled with you. It’s not just the bond.” Jason’s cheek feels so warm curved in the palm of his hand. “I think you might have all the pieces now, Jay.”

"But you pull me close to you and then you push me away.”

“I wasn’t sure for the longest time, if these were my feelings or if they came from the bond. If you were ready for more. If I ever could be. And then,” Dick says, laughing a little when Jason groans. “I had to figure out if it mattered where it came from as long as it was real.”

Jason taps Dick on the forehead, smile rueful. “You spend a lot of time up here.”

“I know.”

“So, what does all this mean. Spell it out for me, Dickie. I thought we had an understanding before, but then you went away again.”

The quiet ache is back, Jason’s confusion, his patience, his resolve, Dick can feel it. “I love you, Jason, and I’m not going to let nothing stand in the way of that. Not even myself.”

Jason’s expression rises from pensive to hopeful to gentle over the course of Dick’s speech. And now, now Jason smiles. “Good,” says Jason. “Because I really, really want to kiss you right now.” And oh, does that make Dick’s heart skip a beat. He swoops in pressing their lips together. Jason groans quietly, mouth opening with the sound to tug and nip at Dick’s soft lips until he can slide his tongue inside, smooth, gentle. This is their seventh kiss and Jason is taking him apart, a hand on his chin to hold him, the other barely there on his neck, fingers curling at his jaw, the apple of his throat. They part for breath too soon, too soon, but Dick’s heart is racing like he’s spent an hour running.

So of course, Jason instigates the next kiss. And the next.

Dick feels weak at the knees limbs softening like wax beneath Jason’s touch. Jason seems to know it somehow, catches Dick before he falls, hauls him up by the knees and turns until Dick is the one sitting on the marble counter and Jason’s between his legs, lips at his throat, mouth open. Tasting him. He tilts his neck to the side and Jason gives a tiny, harsh sound, a growl. He rests his head in the crook of Dick’s shoulder and simply breathes.

“You can’t keep pushing me away like that,” he whispers. “You can’t. It hurts. Because I love you, Dick. Sometimes I think too much. And the sometimes I don’t think it’s ever enough for you, not when you don’t see it. Not when you don’t trust me to try.”

“I know. I know. I won’t push you away.” Dick worries his fingers around the nape of Jason’s neck. The slow circling motion relaxes him slowly. “Not again,” he promises. “Not ever again.”

“I was so angry at you,” Jason whispers. “And then you took my clothes and I walked back to the manor barefoot with my dick swinging in the breeze. I was so pissed.”

Dick’s laughs then and squeezes Jason a little tighter. “Sorry. I was mad at you too.”

“So, what do we do now?” Jason asks when enough time pasts and their bodies start to protest their tight embrace. Dick settles back onto the ground, but Jason isn't quite ready to let him go. Dick doesn't mind. Not at all.

“I’d like to get out of this uniform," he says. "And then we can get some dinner.”

Jason tugs at his blue tie giving Dick a wolfish grin. “I’d like that.”

“And then I was thinking we can do a little investigation to make up for your assignment change.”

Jason clutches him tightly, excited, then lets Dick go. “Oh really?”

“Nothing exciting. There’s a shifter seminar happening tonight in Gotham. The co-sponsors are victims in the serial case, but there hasn’t been any cancellation notice, so odds are, people will still think it’s running,” Dick explains. “I want to scope it out. See if anyone shows it. It won’t take long at all.”

“I can help with that,” Jason says swiftly. “I mean, Todd Peterson can.”

Dick smiles. “It would look weird of Brice went all alone. Give me a few minutes to change.”

The apartment is technically theirs, and the closets have a lived in quality to them containing items sized to Dick’s measurements. The shirt Dick pulls from the shelf looks gently worn, the deep purple only slightly faded. The jeans are a bit snug, but he can rock it. Is definitely rocking it from the way Jason’s eyes hit gold when he walks out of the bedroom.

As they’re walking out of the front door, Dick realizes that this feels nice, right, the two of them together in just this way. Curving together to fill the void. It’s heady, it’s all-consuming, but Dick can see through it. He even remembers that they should’ve set the apartment’s security code on the way out the door.

“It’s not my fault,” he says backing into the apartment, laughing. He tugs Jason by the shirt. “Someone keeps distracting me.”

“I’ll show you distracting,” Jason growls. His lips shine in the dim light. He leans in but Dick turns away at the last moment, laughing as Jason nuzzles into his back with another growl. Jason’s fingers sliding into his belt loop, a tight squeeze with the belt there, but he manages. His teeth slide gently down Dick’s neck. There’s a sweet sting, and Dick’s eyes flutter. He winces when another sharp pain radiates up from his arm. It disappears quick, like a bug bite, and Dick opens his mouth to remark on it then lists gently to the side instead. His head feels woozy.

“Jay,” he says, stumbling under the heavy weight on his back. He tries to turn but his limbs feel weird, his mouth slowing.

Jason’s body slips from his shoulders, falling to the ground with a grunt, and Dick goes tumbling after.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I want to take the time to thank you for coming back for more Bound. Your kudos, comments, and questions are always, always welcome here. I think they make me stronger. No seriously. This story might crack 50k words! That's the longest thing I've ever written. And it's complete. You guys helped make it happen, so again, thank you.

Dick rolls in his bed. A heated wave rushes through his body at the motion making him feel woozy. Waking up hasn’t been this painful since the flu ravaged the precinct two years ago. The next move hurts, the deep breath he draws hurts, and when he tries to open his eyes a bolt of pain racks through him. Everything hurts.

Memories of when he first joined the police force crowd his head. Before joining the patrol division each officer must undergo certification for non-lethal determent methods culminating in being pepper sprayed and tazed by their soon-to-be-issued devices. They called it the Gauntlet, and Dick had felt battered after going through it. That same sensation fills Dick’s body now, like he’s drained and tingling in a terrible aftermath, but his mind continues to race, circling through pain and confusion until it gives up and just hurts. He scratches under his tee, the leg of his briefs and that hurts too.

Falling back to sleep seems like the best course of action. Rest, take stock, maybe clean up whatever bottle he’d crawled into last night. Dick curls onto his side too exhausted to think. Something tugs at the back of his mind. A word. A person.

He remembers just before falling over the dark edge of sleep.

_Where is Jason?_

Dick jerks awake with a shout fading in his ear. He rolls to his side, mind still cloudy, pain still stretching his insides thin. Blearily, he cracks open an eye, reaching for his phone. His hand misses the bedside table. The small motion sends a shooting pain down his right arm. It’s hot, sharp, and localized along the vein in his bicep. He stares at the source confused.

There’s a bandage wrapped around his arm.

There is no bedside table.

This is not his apartment.

This is not the manor.

He blinks until the blurred edges of his vision disappear. The room is dark. He’s lying in a flat cot with plastic slats supporting his weight. The room is narrow and dark with concrete walls and floors and steel door. Light filters in through small slices along the room’s ceilings.

This is wrong.

He tilts his head groaning when the world sloshes to one side. The last thing he remembers is a sharp pinch of his skin that ended the warm glow fizzling through him. And Jason. Jason was there. Jason was with him. He clutches his head trying to piece together those last few moments, and he can see Jason’s smile, remember his lips, his laughter. His groan of pain. Every part of him trembled with effort to pull together, to get upright, to find Jason.

Where is Jason? Even the bond, the small hot burn just under his consciousness seems diminished to the point that he can’t.... Dick takes a deep breath and tries again. He just needs to calm down and focus so he can feel. He tries to focus past the nausea and dizziness, tries to find the constant running beside his heartbeat for so long now, but all he finds is emptiness.

The realization that he can’t even _feel_ Jason sends Dick crashing forward. Flinging his hand outwards, he stumbles against the wall of the confined cell nauseous fear spiking through his gut, but he keep tracing against the concrete with his hand until he finds a metal door. It’s locked. The handle is short and blunt and resistant to Dick’s grasp, or perhaps his hands that refuse to cooperate, cold and prickling with phantom needles. He scrabbles at the door, and when that doesn’t work, he begins to bang on the door roughed voice raised as high as it could go.

_Bring him back, bring him back, bring him back, bring him back._

“Bring him back,” he whispers, fists curling against the door. “I don’t know who you are or what you’re doing, but you need to return my friend right now. Bring him back!” His shout reverberates in the air.

Suddenly, the lights flip on haloing Dick’s world an obnoxious bright white. A sharp metallic sound echoes high above him followed by a low hum. An intercom system. Someone heard him.

“You will do well to maintain an air of calm, Mr. Wynne. Number 26 will be returned to the cell in due time.”

Dick lifts a hand over his eyes hissing at the sudden illumination of the room. It hadn’t seemed so bad in the dark. Now, Dick knows better.

He’s locked in a narrow space, barely eight feet across with walls rounded like a capsule. The room extended high into the air, perhaps twenty-five feet or more. He can just make out black metal stretching over where the ceiling should lie. The industrial lamps buzz noisily from on high Those are the things he can see. The speaker, the camera, the person who’s shouting down at him, items that would provide real information, he cannot see. That’s what he needs. Information.

It comes to him then that he has training. He’s a sworn officer of the law who has participated in hostage negotiation, active shooter events, and domestic terrorism task forces. He’s been a part of Bruce’s secret operations for many years, which has placed him in dangerous situations time and time again. He knows there’s a way to do this, there’s a way to respond and retrieve information. But Dick still feels too disoriented to focus. All his thoughts seem too oily to grasp.

Basic questions then.

“Who are you and what have you done with my friend?”

“Friend.” The word, said with exceeding patience, hung in the air. “Mr. Wynne, please, we know about the bond.”

Warning bells clatter in the back of Dick’s mind, but it’s still so hard to think. He scrubs a hand through his hair. “What have you done to me?”

“Nothing harmful or permanent.” Yet hangs in the air unspoken. “You have been given a mild sedative, a bond suppressant, and an inducer.”

Dick can’t stop the shocked sound that escapes him. He’s read too many reports referring to that triangle of medications and their effect on omega class shifters.

“I see that you understand,” says the voice. “We do not wish to harm you, Mr. Wynne. We wish to breed you.”

Dick uncurls from the wall reaching his full height. Inside twin emotions crystallized within him, fury and fear. “Who the hell are you?!”

“We tell you this as a gesture of goodwill,” says the voice, ignoring his outburst. “As an omega we are sure you understand how the creed of submission will help ensure humane treatment for yourself and your alpha during this process. So please, Mr. Wynne, calm, cooperation, compromise.”

“Who the hell are you?” Dick repeats softly. He tugs at his hair so hard his head aches but even that doesn’t erase the fog surrounding his head.

“Good. Now be a good omega and wait patiently for your alpha to return.”

Dick pushes away from the wall furious at the bland tone, the way his voice pitched down on omega, the contempt there, the hunger. But anger isn’t going to get him what he wants. Dick stumbles back to the cot thinking. Calm. The voice had reacted when Dick became calm, at least stopped shouting. What would happen if he did more? Dick is ready to find out.

He sits on the end of the cot and looks up into the lights searching for a camera. “Please,” he says softly. “Please let me see him.”

“Very good, omega. Let’s see if your cooperation will be rewarded.”

The door opens. Jason tumbles through landing on the hard floor with a wet thud. It slams shut before Dick can move, and he goes to Jason crumpling to his knees. Jason’s on his side, shirtless and trembling, drawing breath in quick, shallow bursts.

“Jay!” Dick check his pulse, grimacing when it jackhammers against his fingertips. “You with me?”

Slowly, Jason turns his face up. “Didn’t think they’d. Let me see you.”

“I’m here.” Dick helps Jason up from the floor. His body, drenched in sweat, slips beneath Dick’s palm like a wet eel, but he manages to get his arms around Jason and help shuffle him to the cot where the shifter falls with a dull groan. Jason’s face looks so pale and drawn, body damp like he’s run 1000 miles. It’s all too similar to the time when Jason first returned to home, gaunt and tormented.

There’s no stopping the trembling in Dick’s hands as he searches Jason’s body. Needle marks notch Jason’s neck and right bicep newly made and not fading as they should. His knuckles are raw and a heavy bruise purples beneath his left eye. He thinks it’s only been hours, but what if it’s been days of torture Jason’s been subjected too?

They’ve got to get out of here.

Dick must get them out of here.

“Come on,” he snaps, desperate to discover some semblance of a plan. He has to do something. He has to do something to help them. He’s breathing hard, eyes burning at Jason’s side. It’s like the adrenaline spike has burned away some of the haze. His thoughts are still loose and cloudy, but he knows this: Brice Wynne is being monitored as closely. They expect an omega at wits end with fright over their alpha. It’s not far from Dick’s current headspace.

Dick pulls his shirt off and uses it to wipe at Jason’s brow. “It’s okay,” he murmurs when Jason stirs. “I’m just going to help settle you. Get you dry. It’ll feel better, I promise.”

“Woke up. Couldn’t find you,” Jason rasps, pushing to his side. He grimaces at the effort. “Worried.”

“Don’t be. Just concentrate on.” Dick stops. There’s no platitude he can think to offer Jason. Jason who is revisiting trauma before his eyes. Dick searches blindly until he finds Jason’s hand. He squeezes the clammy palm.

“I’m okay,” Jason whispers. “If you’re okay, I’m okay.”

“How can you possibly know I’m okay?”

Seconds pass before Dick realizes Jason is trying to smile at him. Jason lifts his free hand and carefully taps his nose. “’S not perfect. But it’s all I have. Di.” He stutters to a stop. “Did you notice something off? I can’t feel you. Here.” He touches his chest.

“They’ve given me a bond suppressor, maybe while we were separated.”

Jason gives him a quizzical look. “How do they know?”

“I have some ideas. But we’re going to be okay, Todd. Whatever happens, I want you to remember that we’re in this together and we’re going to get out of this together.”

“Yeah. But if there’s a chance. If they let you go--”

“Don’t think like that. Just tell me you understand. And just. Can you say my name? Can you just call me Brice?” Dick asks, stroking his cheek. “I need to hear it.”

Jason’s eyes flicker. “Always thinking,” he says softly, reaching up to touch Dick’s hand. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, _Brice_. We’re in this together. And we’re going to get out of this together. I’ve beat the odds once before.” Jason tugs Dick to his side. Dick goes easily curling to fit along Jason’s long frame.

“Okay,” Dick says, lying his head down upon Jason's chest. “Okay.” He pushes his lips to the small patch of skin below Jason’s jaw in a soothing gesture. Jason doesn’t relax, but his heartbeat slows.

“My mind’s all foggy, but I can’t stop thinking about the moment before everything went dark. I didn’t.” Jason takes a huge breath. “I didn’t hear nothing. Didn’t smell nothing. If I had just.”

“Scent masks,” Dick murmurs. “Scent enhancers. Hallucinogens. There are some tried and true ways to fool shifters. So don’t think about that. Focus on keeping your strength. We’re going to need it.” He runs quiet hands over Jason’s shoulders and back until his breathing gentles. “And if we’re confessing this, I think this is my fault. I think going to that fertility clinic was a mistake and. I’ll be damned if I let anyone hurt you either.”

Asleep, Jason cannot hear his promise.

Dick spends the next two hours holding his shifter in his arms. Every minute that passes finds Dick clutching him a little bit tighter. Any second now someone will come to collect the sleeping shifter, and Dick wants to be ready when they do.

And then the moment comes. The overhead lights turn on with a rusted crack. Dick jerks upwards and in his arms Jason curls and smashes his head to his ears. It takes a split second for Dick to catch on, and he’s sliding a hand to his own head and muffling fake whimpers against Jason’s skin, pretending he doesn’t feel the tears. It lasts far too long for Jason, but eventually his body shakes free of its rigid lock.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, it’s okay,” Dick whispers, “I’m here with you.” He repeats it until the doors open.

They’re prepared for a fight. Seven men wearing white, heavily padded suits and masks wielding long metal prods with sparking ends.

“Put those down. You’re not going to need them. Put the weapons away.” Dick repeats when the guards take a step forward. He keeps his voice steady, authoritative, but his heart beats wildly in his chest. “Please.”

Jason rolls unsteadily to his feet with a low growl. The gold flecks ringing his iris shine dully. He leans until his bulk hides Dick’s body. The guards crowd in. Their electric prods hum in the air hungry for Jason.

“You seem to have forgotten your promise number 26.” The disembodied voice breaks through the commotion. “You willing cooperation for the sake of your bondmate.”

Dick clenches fingers into Jason’s skin. “What is he talking about?”

Jason half turns keeping the guards and Dick within view. “I needed to make sure you’re.” He falters. “I went through so much. I can’t let that happen to you.”

“Wait!” Dick grabs his wrist and stares open-mouthed and speechless. He has no words. Jason frees himself carefully. He pushes to his feet keeping his hands raised, palms up, and Dick watches in horror as Jason barely twitches when a guard twists his arm behind his back and locks them together with heavy cuffs. They close with a quiet snap. Jason stands unsteadily between them and Dick’s gaze are intent on his face, the sorrowful eyes resolute in this moment and Dick can’t reach out to him, protect him. The guards yank him towards the door and Dick’s nails cut into the skin of his palms. He can feel a sting in his eyes but tears refuse to fall.

 _Come back._ Dick isn’t sure if he says the words or mouths them but Jason must have heard him because he tenses resisting the guard's shove. His mouth curves the slightest bit, and Dick realizes he needs that smile as much as he needs air.

“I will.” Jason grunts stumbling. Dick sees the second blow fall between his shoulders. He’ll never forget the sound of Jason’s mangled scream and the wap of as he’s struck again. Dick launches himself from the bed. The tackle sends the guard to the concrete floor. His fist struck the vulnerable throat. The guard’s retaliation is swift. A sharp, electric pinch floods Dick’s side. Just one push of the prod, and Dick’s stuck trembling, drool sputtering at the corner of his mouth. He falls over with a gasp and Jason roars.

Pain cartwheels his thoughts into a kaleidoscope of images. Jason lunging. Two bodies flying. Prods falling. Boots lifting. Jason twisting under it all. Jason’s body limp and dragging through the door. Dick’s fingers spasm, his body twitches but he moves. He drags his body after them, one wet inch after the other, until the door slams shut.

“No.” The word stutters from his mouth wet and furious. “No!”

The speaker clicks on. “This type of behavior is ill-advised, Mr. Wynne. A person of your dynamic should understand what it means to stay in your place.

“But don’t worry. We’re here to help each shifter understand their true potential.”

The lights switch off, and Dick’s interrogation begins.

 

* * *

 

The disembodied voice blares an odd stream of dynamic orientation propaganda straight from a 1960s health class and a barrage of invasive questions. They’re all focused on Brice Wynne’s sexual and reproductive history. They're all similar to questions he's answered before. The interrogation drones on and on, loud and constant, Dick can’t even keep track of them or the time. Two hours, three, he’s not sure how long it lasts. He slumps in the cell’s lone corner with his back to the wall. It’s solid weight against his back to help keep him centered while alone in the dark without the bond to center him. He’d never known how much it centered him until it was gone.

_At what age did you first present your dynamic?_

_Can you provide a full account of your sexual history?_

_Have you ever experienced irregularity in your heat?_

_Have you and Number 26 shared either heat or rut?_

Dick answers each attempt to learn his non-existent reproductive history with the same sentence: “What are you doing to Todd?”

The voice gives a peevish sniff over the intercom. “If that is what you wish to discuss, so be it. How long have you known Number 26.”

“His name is Todd.”

“Did he tell you this? Did he give you the name,” there’s a sound, paper shuffling in a folder. “Todd William-James Peterson when you first met?”

“Todd is the name he’s always had,” Dick says. His fond burst of laughter is intentional. “Says they used all the family names so no one would be left out.” He winces as if he’d let some great secret free.

“Interesting.” The voice goes quiet for a moment. Dick stares upwards as if he’s searching for a source. He’d been correct in his original assessment of the wall. It stood well over twenty feet high. “Mr. Wynne, I wonder if you truly know Number 26.”

“Of course I know him,” Dick snaps, goading the voice into revealing more, “We have a connection.”

“Yes. Quite. But is the truth? You think him some ordinary alpha with ordinary designs to pup you. But what if I told you that Number 26, your Todd,” The voice huffs the name wetly as if expelling lint from its throat, “Is poised to become the pinnacle of the evolutionary progression in human-dynamic relations? Would you be proud of him?”

Dick shifted carefully on the ground. “What are you doing to him?”

“Each day, men and women who are thought to have achieved the height of societal success come to a new realization. Humans have reached their evolutionary end. The society of tomorrow will be influenced by the shifter. Taller, stronger, faster, better--and these men and women want that today. Humans in the upper echelon of society want to be made into shifters. A feat we once thought was impossible. But the ones with shifter genes, well, it was a theoretical possibility.” The voice gives a dramatic pause, and Dick shakes his head wanting to deny what was to come.

“We have had many, many failures. We have also had one shining success. Number 26. He was once human. We have made him something _more_.

“And now he has brought you to us. A bondmate. If we cannot replicate the process in our other test subjects, perhaps we can breed it true.”

Dick buries his face in his hands to hide a sudden, desperate shot of fear. He had wanted to deny this moment for so long, but he had known this case had connections to Jason’s original disappearance. And he had failed to keep Jason away from this trauma. He’d failed to keep him safe.

Despite hearing the voice uttering that word in distasteful, clinical tones, Dick feels dread slither down his spine like oil. He knows this mysterious organization wants to breed Brice. The purpose of the heat inducer had been obvious. The sedative will make him more docile, possibly a muscle relaxant added to help with the preparation. The use of a suppressant will primarily affect an alpha agitating the need to assert dominance and establish or re-establish a bond. Together, the drug cocktail can improve the chance of inception. The only thing that can heighten this need is the rut.

He has information. He doesn’t have time. Time to mourn, time to agonize over his mistakes, time to fear for his own person. He has to get them out of this place. Dick takes a deep breath and begins to plan. Meanwhile, the voice drones on.

“Imagine. Your get will be more than a drain on scarce resources. They will be the first in a new race. They will be the first hymanics.”

Behind his hands, Dick releases a disbelieving snort. “Hymanics, huh?” He leans back against the wall in control again. “That’s a terrible name. You should let us go and go back to the drawing board. Contact your marketing team. If you come up with a name with a little more sizzle, I'll lock myself in this cage, no complaints.”

“Humor.” The voice says the word hollowly, like it picked up their coffee and found humor floating in the cup feet up. “Not the average omega reaction, but you are above average. After all, Number 26 chose you.”

The lights turn on with a crack.

The door opens and Dick scrambles to his feet as Jason is dropped to the ground. The guards back away slowly, prods out until the last one slides back through the door. Dick’s at his side before the lock turns.

“Hey. You with me?” He slides a palm down Jason’s back, fingers spreading over the thick bones curving to form his ribcage. Somehow, Jason seems thinner now, as if their scant time trapped here has sucked so much life from him. Jason pushes to his knees.

“I think they gave me something. Drugged me.” Jason trails off, eyes blinking owlishly swaying. “Fuck, my head, Dickie. I can’t keep my thoughts straight.”

“It’s okay, I’m here.” Dick combs Jason’s hair away from his face slowly. He closes the distance between them, hugging Jason tightly, their faces pressed close.

“I should lie down.” Jason shakes as Dick lifts him from the floor again. They stumble to the cot again. “They’re telling me to change. Why would I want to change?”

“You don’t have to,” says Dick. “I kinda like you as is.”

“You mean afraid. Of me as is.” Jason puffs through a tight smile. “Fraidy cat.”

“For you. Never of you.” Dick corrects knowing his scent is probably filthy fear. He’s feeling anxious too, gut churning while he considers how to help Jason, how to relay his plan to get him out of this room. “And name-calling? What are you? Fourteen.” The second he utters the words Dick remembers a moment from long ago. Two skinny teens creeping down the stairs on the night of a full moon for running on the grounds while Bruce ran with a visiting pack. They’d stalled at the side door like some invisible barrier bared their exit. Bruce’s few rules always felt like that and Dick, who had lived under them for so long could find the courage to cross the threshold. Jason had called him a fraidy cat. Dick had shoved him back and laughed, hissing that he didn’t see Jason going anywhere either.

And Jason had said-- “I’ll show you,” Dick whispers.

“Yeah,” says Jason. “And I did, didn’t I?”

Dick reaches up to push the damp hair from Jason’s forehead. “Yeah. You really did. My alpha. Always showing off.”

“Your alpha, huh?” Jason’s lips curl into a faint smile. “Why you have to say that now whe--” Jason trails off with a violent shudder. He slumps against Dick’s body, shivering and slick with sweat. Goosebumps wash along the curve of Jason’s spine as if he’s chilled but his body is hot with fever and Jason groans softly into Dick’s throat. The dim lights cast over giving him a pale, ashen look.

“Let me go,” he says.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s just me.” Dick continues to soothe with his hands, with his words, a kiss to Jason’s damp temple. Jason shifts to his side weak limbs flopping out to find purchase on the ground. “What are you doing?”

“You’ve got to.” Jason heaves, strangling out a curse. “You’ve got to let me go.”

Dick follows him upright supporting Jason’s attempts to move. Sweat beads down Jason’s forehead and neck, his entire body shudders, and he’s trying to crawl away when he can barely move. Dick’s mind is racing to understand what’s happening to him, what terrible things they could have done to Jason in those few hours to turn him into this. “Lie down.” He cups Jason’s elbow to steady him. “Seriously. We don’t know what’s going on.”

And then he feels it beneath the skin of his palm, an aberrant motion. He pulls away as if burned but the sensation lingers. The feeling of Jason’s bone cracking.

Dick stops moving, nearly stops breathing from the small dry sound that’s increasing. The sound and motion ripple underneath Jason’s skin like the rolling terror of an avalanche, the tiny fractures on packed pond ice. It’s the sound of change.

Dick reaches out, but Jason snarls at him teeth bared. He forces back a flinch and touches Jason’s hand. “You’re trying to shift?”

Jason grimaces. “Can’t stop it.”

“Are they _forcing_ a shift?”

“Think so. I can’t stop and it. It. Hurts.” Jason hisses, twisting his shoulders away. His spine pops like gravel under foot.

“It’s going to be okay.”

“Sure it is.” Jason pants. “Just don’t. I don’t want you to see me like this. I never want you to see this.”

“Shifting?” Dick stares at him confused. Dick has seen, on more than one occasion, Bruce, Cass, Damian, and several of Bruce’s closest friends shift. “It’s not like I’m a stranger to it. Come on, let me help.”

“Not like this. Just. Get over there.” Jason points across the room on the opposite side of the bed. His hand shakes. “Don’t listen.”

“Jay. Come on.”

Jason’s lips twitch back, teeth gleaming. “Don’t. I mean it.” He shivers. “Please.”

Dick goes to the corner and crosses his arms. In a moment of dark humor, he supposes the action helps feed the dynamic they should have. But when they get out of here, Jason’s going to get an earful. With his own nose shoved in a corner.

When they escape. He has got to get them out of this place.

That’s when Dick hears it, the dry, rustling sound signaling Jason’s shift into his wolf form.

Then it all changes sounding strange, brutal. The dry snap of bones. Pop of skin and the smell of blood. The shift goes on for far too long with Jason panting heavily a curse strangled from his lips. Then comes the sound of something wet folding inwards, a scraping of bone and claw, then a quiet whimpering that doesn’t stop.

“I’m turning around now. Okay? I’m coming to you.” A pained whimper answers him. Enough of this, Dick thinks and spins ready to go to Jason and do something. Touch him. Hold him.

His mouth drops open in shock. “Oh god, oh,” He swallows back Jason’s name, “Baby, what have they done to you?”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with another update, a little later than I wanted, but still stuck to my schedule. 
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you to all of your kudos, comments, and love of my cliffhangers! I'm going to get back to you guys, but I wanted to poste first.

The story of Dick Grayson is simply remarkable.

He was born into a family, who filled his earliest days with laughter, adventure, and love. He was gifted with many extraordinary qualities, often quoted to him directly with exasperation or pride. But over time, Dick came to believe the trait that best represented him was a stubborn will that said never let go.

When he first swung across the big top with his father on one side and his mother sailing toward him with her arms outstretched, sparkling like magic jewels under the big top light, Dick grasped her hand and never let go.

When fortune placed him in the path of Bruce Wayne, Dick saw a someone who perhaps needed Dick as much as Bruce was needed in return. So, he took Bruce’s hand and never let go.

When Dick’s new family grew in both size and strangeness, and their awesome linage seemed to overshadow his place and caused doubt to creep his heart, he still opened his arms to them and never let go.

When he found Jason shackled in an industrial storage facility, nearly tortured and bruised beyond recognition, Dick broke Jason free, pulled Jason into his arms. And when Jason smiled his bloody smile, Dick held him close and resolved to never let him go.

In the hundred conversations they’d had since Jason came back changed, the horrible, frigid silences once they realized a bond had taken root, and explosive shouting matches when Jason railed at their fate, Dick had realized he was equally responsible for this.

This.

Their entire relationship, their fears and hopes, their hate and love, their familiarity and distance--it can all be boiled down to that little word.

Because of or even despite Jason’s return, Dick knows that after all this, he’s defined himself as son and brother, officer and soldier, and above all these things, Jason’s.

And sometimes he’ll remember that in all the ways he is Jason’s, Jason is also his, and Dick will never let him go.

Never let go. It was all so simple.

 

* * *

 

A howl rips through the air, a pained, awful sound that falls from Jason’s lips. He lists gently in the center of the room limbs shaking, eyes afraid.

Despite the mythology, the folktales there is no in between state for shifters. There is only the homo sapiens and the canis lupus; the human and the wolf. Yet there appears before Dick something in the middle, an impossibility standing in the flickering light, body bowing in pain.

The figure is Jason, but Jason changed.

His heavy pants speak to the terrible physical exertion of a full transformation, but the shape and stretch of his body looks as if he’d halted in the beginning stages of his shift. His face is the most obvious area of this change. The skin pulls a little too tight around his bones, giving him gaunt, unfinished appearance. His forehead slopes more slightly, his jaw is faintly distended. His teeth are longer, sharper canines glowing like crescent moons. His shoulders bow up and back and his calves seem almost inverted. The changes continue to the points of his furred ears and the length of his dark nails.

Dick takes all this in with wide eyes. His heart pounds against the cage of his ribs. But for all his changes, for all the limbs stretched like strange taffy and the heavy sharpness to his features, Jason appears more human than not.

Unsure how to act, unsure if this is even real, Dick watches Jason appearing to acclimate himself to the changes in his body. He walks in a tight circle, stumbling slightly as if unused to the motion. Jason tilts his head into the air and draws a deep breath. His chest expands and contracts like billows highlighting the increased muscle density. Without warning, Jason leaps towards the door hammering it with a heavy fist. He stakes three huge steps back then runs at it again slamming his shoulder into the door. The metal makes a terrified groan but holds. Jason stares at it head cocked, like he’s confused. His hand flexes at his side, and Jason lifts it up considering flat palm and the long, thick fingers. Fingers wave then fold into a fist before opening again. And then Jason takes a hesitant step forward placing his hand against the handle. The motion is awkward, a child grasping for their first cup, and it takes Jason several attempts before he successfully captures the door handle. The rumbling in his chest sounds pleased, perhaps, thoughtful, Dick isn’t quite sure. Jason barks when the handle rips flies off the door, screws shooting free like bullets, and the meaning there is very clear. He leaps backwards startled, embarrassed. Angry.

The handle goes hurtling through the air disappearing into the darkness. There’s a crash, the sound of shattering grass. The handle must have struck an overhead lamp. Soon enough, the pieces scatter across the floor. Dick throws his arms over his head and presses against the wall as it rains down. The mesh Dick saw doesn’t cover the ceiling of the capsule. The lines he saw must have been something else. A catwalk maybe, a means of escape, he thinks, the first stirrings of a plan coming to him. A loud yip interrupts the idea.

Jason.

Dick’s gaze swings back to find Jason looking around with a look of dismay on his face. He laughs. Dick can’t stop the sound from escaping. It’s like a pressure valve popping loose and his stomach trembles as more laughter spills free. This is familiar. Between all these awesome changes, Dick sees Jason in the startled jerk of his head and the wide eyes, staring at Dick. This is Jason. He repeats it over and over in his head as he brings his arms down.

_This is Jason._

Dick licks his lips. “Hey. Hey. Are you with me?” He takes a step and Jason’s lip curls, a low growl buzzes from his chest. Dick stops moving. “Okay. Okay, I’m staying right here. I just want you to know I’m here. I’m here for you.”

It’s Jason’s turn to take a step, a slow dragging motion that carries him forward, the growl nearer. It feels as if Jason towers above him now. His shadow spreads over the floor. His next step cuts the distance between them in half. Dick raises his hands and offers a shaky smile.

“Ja--” Dick is slammed against the wall before he can finish the name. His head bounces hard. Stars bloom like flowers in his vision spidering together in sickly green-black. When the world returns, Dick finds himself dangling off the floor and Jason’s inhuman gaze searching his face. The black of his pupils swallow his iris and the gold mark of the wolf is replaced by a sickly red ring. Jason’s brow furrows. He’s confused. Jason leans forward and Dick holds his breath until he realizes nothing’s happening. Although that’s not quite right. Jason’s nose skates along his chest sniffing curiously.

“Jay. Jay, you know me.” Dick slurs the words as soothingly as he can. He tries to shift his hands up in a nonthreatening manner and he’s shaken for his troubles. Shaken until he’s still again.

Jason noses along Dick’s jaw, nips at the thin skin beneath jaw in heart-breaking parody of their conversation in the car after what feels like a lifetime ago, only this time, Jason doesn’t speak, doesn’t know that Dick is without a gland. He breathes in deeply.

“You know me. You know me, and I trust you, Jay. See.” Dick takes a shaky breath before tipping his head backwards and exposing more of his throat. It’s more than a sign of submission. It’s a message, an invitation, a sign of trust, and Dick offers all these things to Jason in the hopes that it gets through to him where words are obviously failing.

A low growl rumbles from Jason’s throat, the only warning he gives before drawing his hands away. Dick crashes his knees, would probably have hit his head again if he hadn’t caught himself with one hand. He rubs at his wrist, biting back a whimper when Jason’s hand curls into his hair to drag him forward.

Then Jason sinks behind him.

Body as thick and imposing as the concrete walls, Jason’s heat presses into Dick’s back. Dick arches forward a little to create distance, but Jason hauls him back and an arm wraps over his chest like a steel barl. Dick drags in a deep breath and another staving off the panic. A wet tongue curls up the back of his neck followed by sharp teeth.

“Oh god. Oh god.” Dick swallows thickly. It goes on and on, Jason nipping and worrying the space near the hinge of his jaw and Dick squirming as his fear mounts. The more he twisted the harder the grip grew, the closer they seemed to become until Dick felt he would melt at the heat expelled from Jason’s body, the warmest he’s been since Dick woke up in this cell. Jason shifts, hips rocking and Dick shudders to a stop.Every thing halts, his breathing, his thinking, everything except for his heart, which flutters madly at the feeling of being trapped.

A single word explodes into his mind. Rut. It echoes there, bright and rapid like his pulse.

“Wait.” He chokes, realizing he forgot something important in the last few moments. The suppressor, the inducer. “Wait, wait. Please!” The harder he struggles the less he can move. Jason is stronger than him physically, has always been, but this feels different. Inescapable. Dick’s breath comes faster, his voice breaking at the prickle of teen over his shoulder, up his neck, then Jason’s teeth sink into the skin of his throat.

Dick’s shriek echoes in his head long after it dissipates from the air. It hurts. It hurts so badly, the wicked curve slicing into his muscle and the warm copper trickling down to his shoulder.

He kneels long moments trapped in Jason’s grip until the teeth slide free. And that’s when the first tear slides down his sweaty cheek. The second slides free when Jason starts trying to twist him around and laps at the bleeding wound. Dick begins to cry in earnest as the heavy sorrow in his chest burns away leaving a slow blooming sensation. He can feel Jason again.

The bond has returned smoldering like embers.

Dick looks up from Jason’s bloody grimace and stares into his eyes watching as a sliver of blue iris reappears. The golden ring is muddy but recognizable. Jason tilts down to rest his forehead against Dick’s. He touches the bond, moaning quietly at the feelings welling through him. The first is pain, pain so sudden and stark Dick nearly cries out as the sensation of his entire body straining as if to pull apart. The next is rage, an all-encompassing inferno blazing through him. And beneath it all rests love, a foundation strong enough to uphold the weight of the world. Even now, Jason feels so much love.

This is Jason. This is still his Jason. And Dick is still his.

Finally, Dick reaches out to Jason. Finally, he’s allowed to touch him. Thick arms wrap around his waist drawing Dick to perch across muscular thighs. Dick huffs lightly, breath squeezed out of him, but he smiles, heart still pounding out of fear for them both. But it feels distant now, manageable now that Jason’s returned to him. He shifts from side to side trying to loosen the hold. There’s not a lot of give, but it’s enough and he sits back relaxing as much as he can then tense up again. Jason’s erection blazes red hot and insistent against the seat of his briefs.

Jason whines and rolls his hips up. “I know,” Dick says soothingly. “I know, I know. But it’s not safe. It’s not safe here.” It doesn’t seem to matter if Jason understands the words or tone, he continues rocking against him, bucking twice urgently. His nails, lengthened like dew claws, slice through the thin shirt fabric to graze Dick’s ribs and back. His mouth is wet and clumsy along the length of Dick’s neck.

Think, he hisses to himself silently. Jason still doesn’t seem to be aware of Dick in more than an instinctual level so, he’ll have to try to play to that side more. He can do that. Dick has been raised by wolves. He’s pack, and pack protects their own.

“Jay, I’m afraid,” Dick whispers, curling in on himself. He lets out a soft whimper, one that holds as much of his pain and fear as possible. He’s frightened, submissive, beneath his bondmate, instinct should kick in. He hopes instinct kicks in. It does.

Jason’s reacts immediately by shoving Dick to the ground. He goes up on his knees and hands becoming bigger, broader, crowding over Dick. A deep growl rumbles through his chest and his lips spread revealing sharp teeth. Jason’s head swings from side to side searching for a threat. So far so good. Dick pushes against Jason’s chest whimpering growing shrill as he points up into the air. Jason’s head snaps upwards. His growl intensifies becoming louder, more menacing.

“Watch it,” Dick grunts tumbling Jason stands. His claws scrape through Dick’s hair in something like an apology, or maybe he’s simply mimicking Dick’s actions, but he understands. There’s a frisson of something between them, a low current brushing over the jagged edge of Dick’s fears through the bond, then Jason jogs to where Dick pointed. He leaps upward foot pressing against the wall and bounds into the darkness.

“Holy hoptoads,” Dick breathes right as a loud klaxon shatters the air. He stumbles to the wall studying the dark footprint high above him. “Should’ve hitched a ride.”

“You have made a grave error, Mr. Wynne.” It’s his old pal and creepy confidant on the speaker. His rant is halted by a shout. There’s a scream, shattered glass, and the haunting bay of a wolf.

The sound echoes through the air, and Dick recognizes the depth of Jason’s voice, the fury and the excitement. Jason howls again and this time he’s answered by another voice. Then another. And another.

Dick smiles grimly. “No. I’m afraid you’re the one who made a mistake.”

 

* * *

 

Here’s a tip about rescues that never made it into Dick’s training manuals. They take a long time.

Nearly fifteen minutes pass before the door to his cell opens. Fifteen minutes of Dick pacing the edge of this tight cell avoiding broken glass. Fifteen minutes of Dick twitching at every shout and every bark that cut through facilities. But it’s not Jason slamming his way back to Dick’s side or a guard. A dark wolf leaps through the crack and bounds towards Dick. The metal slat he’d been holding drops to the floor.

“Cass,” he breathes, ducking down to hug her close. She yips nuzzling his chest before licking at his cheeks. “I’m happy to see you too. Have you seen Jay?”

“Todd’s scent is everywhere, but we have not seen him.” Damian says, stepping into the cell. From trainers to his cotton hoodie and rucksack, he’s dressed in all black. A small mask hides most of his face. He looks Dick over. “You are unharmed?”

“Yeah.” Dick eases back to standing. “How’d you find us?”

Cass butts his knees. The message is clear. “Okay, okay,” he says, stumbling after her. “We’ll talk on the run.”

The hallway gleams with pulsating warning lights. The alarm still rings, steady and loud down the corridors. Dick keeps pace as they circle upwards in the holding cells, but he soon falters feeling dizzy. Pain creeps through his side. He clutches the wall and tries to catch his breath. “Give me a second. Please.”

Damian comes to his side and wraps an arm around his waist. Dick’s arm settles comfortably across his shoulders. “Father spoke with you about the transportation ring,” he says. “He and that motley Gotham pack followed while Cass and I responded to the alert at the apartment. Both roads led here. Father, Cass, and I were in the process of infiltrating and freeing some shifters in the lowest recesses of this place then, as you are likely to say, all hell broke loose.” Damian pauses. “How did you let this happen?”

“Me?” Dick smiles down amused by the comment and the fact that his little brother isn’t as little anymore.

“Todd is a fool when it comes to you. Blaming him would be pointless.”

Dick’s amusement evaporates in instant. “Yeah, well, we need to find him,” Dick says. The band of tension tightens around his chest again. He begins moving down the hall slower but steadier with his pack beside him.

“Have you concluded this group are the same who abducted Jason the first time?”

“Yes. They numbered him. Twenty-six.” says Dick. “They’re experimenting on humans who carry the shifter gene. I have a feeling he’s the only one to make it through their process.”

“His scent is different. Has he been….” Damian hesitates, a move so uncharacteristic Dick misses a step. “Compromised?” he finishes.

“He’s not feral, but he is changed. So, when we find him, you have to let me try and talk to him. Our bond is back and--”

“What do you mean the bond is ‘back,’” Damian begins only to be interrupted by Cass’s soft growl. He tilts his nose up and frowns. “Gun oil, malice, terror,” he says. “Shifters and bad guys. We must help them.” He starts to pull away then looks up at Dick.

“I’m fine, Dami,” he whispers. “Let’s do this.”

They reach a branch in the corridor and to the right they find the shifters being slowly herded backwards by four armed guards. At his waist, Cass leans forward growling and Damian echoes the sound. They sail into their attack. No words only instinct, pack driving their movements. Damian whirls low to sweep two guards from their feet. Cass moves quickly, dragging a guard down by his collar, cowing him with snapping bites then attacks the other. The shifters shout, some stumbling in to help Damian subdue them. Dick quietly collects the weapons before approaching to help restrain them all with the straps kept in Damian’s rucksack.

“Who are you guys?” A man asks, voice torn by grief and hope.

“We’re here to help,” Dick says. “Can you tell us if there are others here? Others who need to be rescued.”

A tall young woman with blond hair nods. “There are more in the downstairs rooms. It’s where they took that one guy.” Her brow furrows suddenly. “The one who smells so different now. He’s the one that freed us I think. He’s tearing this place apart.”

“Where is he?”

She looks at him with eyes ringed gold. “Can’t you smell him? He’s everywhere.”

From the end of the hall comes a strange cry and Dick is already moving.

“Wait!” Damian cries. There’s a soft shuffling and from the opposite end, the place they just escaped, two russet wolves lope towards them. They circle Dick gently bumping his legs.

“Luke. Nell.” Dick welcomes their comfort even as he years to run off. The other shifters move a little closer with questions. They want to know if they can leave now. They want to know if they can see their families. They want to know how long they’ve been trapped here. They want to know how Dick can help them. His fingers curl into Cass’s fur and he begins to answer their questions, try to at least.

Dick is cut off by the rapport of a pistol and a shriek. Both Dick and Damian are left to chase Cass who disappears into the shadows.

“Get them to safety,” he shouts to the Foxes then takes off running, Damian just in front of him.

The scene is something out of a horror film. A score of white-clad guards lay motionless on the ground. Jason slumps against the far wall hands curling around his belly, crimson blood pooling from beneath his palms. The lone standing figure is all too familiar. He is a slight man, slight of stature, slight smile on his benign face. He shifts training the gun at Jason’s chest. Jason only glares at him, teeth bared, eyes blazing.

Dick shakes himself free of Damian and walks into the center of the room. He calls out, “Dr. Strange,” stealing the attention to his lone body. “Or would you rather I call you Dr. Hopwell?”

The doctor turns his head at that and sneers. “Mr. Wynne. I’d like to ask how you’ve arrived to such a conclusion, but based on your current companions, I believe I’m not the only one lying about their identity.” The doctor walks backwards while Cass and Damian circle slowly. “Is this where you sic these beasts on me? Have them kill me?” His eyes spark with dark amusement.

“No. This is where I tell you to put down the gun. And when you do, I’ll read you your rights.”

The doctor laughs. “An omega shifter on the police force? Do you think I’m naive?”

“No. I think you flunked out biology and anatomy,” Dick says. “I’m dynamic-less, Strange. How could you have missed it?”

The doctor’s waxy gaze melts into one of disbelief. He stares at Dick, tries to look through him, and then his face darkens. “No!’ He shouts, bringing the pistol around to Dick. His wrists lock.

“Yes. I’m human.”

“Number 26 chose you as his bondmate. The instinctual imperative would force him to seek a, a, a ,” he stutters. “A perfect specimen.”

Dick forces a lazy grin. “I tend to defy expectations.” He can see the exact moment when the doctor decides to shoot him. Whether it was his comment or the act of a shattering mind, Dick doesn’t know, but he sees it all happen in slow motion.

The doctor squares his body.

The hammer cocks.

Jason’s eyes flash.

Cass leaps from the shadows staggering the doctor. Her teeth sink into his arm shaking until the gun clatters to the ground. She bounds away gracefully, tongue lapping at her chops. Damian darts in, snatching the gun. And Dick strides forward until he’s face to face with Strange.

“You missed me,” he says before swinging his fist. Every second of fear, pain, and rage he’s felt in the past twenty-four hours, over the past four years, over Jason, _his Jason_ , unleashed in a devastating punch followed by another for his pack’s suffering, and a third for the shifters whose last moments were filled with unimaginable terror and the families they left behind. The doctor drops to the ground.

“Dr. Strange. I’m arresting you for the kidnapping and murder of Robert Asher, Emilia Fortier, Veronica Lucas, Martin Alvez. Rolanda Nelson.” He reels off each name, the list so long, the grief etched deep within him. “And Cordelia Graves. You’re through, you sick sonovabitch.” He struggles with arm restraints, hand shaking and slick with blood, but they clamp down. He reads the doctor his rights, slurring and disjointed as it was, before collapsing a few feet away.

The building seems quiet now. The alarms thin and so far away.

__He’s gone to his knees besides Jason’s bleeding body far too many times in his life. This is the last time. This is the last time. He swears to himself and to his bondmate. Jason stirs weakly and reaches for his hand. His lips part and the sound he makes isn't the growl Dick expected or the hearty howl he wants to hear. It's more reassuring and sends Dick's heart soaring beneath the florescent lights. Jason's voice is rough and trembling when he says, “Hi Dickie,” slow like he's relearned each word. But Jason smiles, smiles, when Dick presses a kiss to his forehead and tells him everything is going to be okay. His smile is a beautiful thing shining even through Dick’s tears._ _

__“Don’t cry,” Jason says. "I’m okay. If you’re okay, I’m okay.”_ _

__“I'm okay,” Dick whispers. “I'm okay and we’re going home.”_ _


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thank you for reading Bound! I cherish every comment, kudo, and bookmark, combing through them like precious diary entries. Y'all are inspiring and driving me to find new and better ways to keep you in the story, entertained, and maybe a little in love!
> 
> We have the absolute last of the case fic in this chapter. Huzzah! I want to apologize to you because I split the final part because I'm sure you didn't want a 10k word chapter thrown at you. But rest assured the final chapter will continue to wrap up as much of if not all the loose ends pertaining to Dick and Jason!

How many years has it been since Dick found himself on the opposite side of an interview table? Dick doesn’t remember the exact time or day, but he remembers the feelings of being aged ten and without his family. The world was washed with gray and sorrow. Dick had been left alone in the room for hours as social services scrambled to find him. 

This time everything looks different. He’s not alone in the room and he’s taller now, tall enough to see outside through the blinds. Outside, officers mill from one end to the other in a choreographed dance around the precinct. They escort people along this spiral of purgatory where they’re question under sweltering lights, under the unsympathetic eyes of the law. They take statements, take time. Suspects, victims, other witnesses, they all struggle in this mess of the human condition. The only cure for what ailed society is the application of law and order, good governance, carefully tended lines to walk within, or so they say, but those lines blurred in here. Witness, victim, the terms are almost interchangeable in this room. 

Dick’s eyes sweep up from the papers neatly stacked in thick binders across the table to take in Interview Room 4. It is a rather nice room. The paint is soothingly bland in modern tones and the chairs are padded in stark contrast to the interrogation rooms on the other side of the building. And the interrogation rooms don’t have a view of the harbor either. Just another thing to remind Dick that he isn’t being interrogated right now. Really. 

Four years ago, the city scraped pennies together to renovate their police precincts. It was a show of generosity not seen since the city poured thousands of dollars to quietly pull asbestos from the ceilings of their municipal buildings in the late 80s. They slapped a coat of paint on most rooms, added some safety and accessibility measures, then took pictures in front of a giant ribbon hung across refurbished material. Job well done. But that’s Bludhaven in a nutshell, crumbling architecture shored up with new drywall and a few studs. 

"Could you offer any additional insight into the reasons behind your abduction by Dr. Strange?" 

Dick dips closer to the microphone. “As I said before, this is all speculation on my part, but I attended an event with my partner, who was looking to understand more about his heritage. He’s a latent type. Uh, late stage L2 emergence. Anyway—we.” 

Across the table, the precinct suit, Williams, leans into his microphone interrupting Dick’s statement. “A reminder that Officer Grayson is referring to his _personal_ relationship with a yet to be identified shifter and not his patrol partner, Officer Bains. While we have encouraged Officer Grayson to come forward with his partner’s identity, he has not done so.” He concludes without inflection. 

There’s a shifting to Dick’s right, where Raquel Ervin, his own lawyer, lifts her microphone from the table. “And we would also like to remind the council that Officer Grayson has no legal obligation to reveal this information to the precinct. Or need I remind counsel of the privacy act established by Star City vs. Weaver?” 

“Come on, Raquel. This isn’t the courtroom.” 

Raquel’s nails spread across the table as if she were about to spring into action. “You’re right. It’s not. Yet, Officer Grayson continues to be badgered like he’s a hostile witness and not this city’s hero.” 

The small room erupts in a chorus of righteous voice, signaling another break in the increasingly tense session. The table feels too crowded and too divided. There’s Raquel, Dick, and his union representative on one side. On the opposite side sit two members of the BPD council, the internal affairs officer assigned to his case, a second internal investigator, a member of the oversight committee, and a tall quiet man Dick’s sure belongs to the state investigations unit. They argue amongst each other as if Dick isn’t even there. 

This is the third interview Dick has had in the since his abduction and dramatic rescue. Four if you count his initial statement while sitting in the back of an ambulance watching the emergency lights twirl. There’s no way he’d go back to that night, the fear in his gut over Jason and not the laws he broke with every lie and obfuscation that came from his mouth. There’s no way he’d go back, but Dick will admit it seems less stressful in retrospect. 

Dick turns his gaze towards the boats slowly chugging over the dark waters hauling freight. The freight is probably legal, but this is Bludhaven. A deal is riding on that ship in some way. It could be innocuous. Making the haul in a certain to ensure a bonus for the crew. It could be illegal trade, contraband, maybe shifters crossing the Atlantic in the hull. Victims and witnesses waiting who might also need rescue one day. 

In the past, Dick had participated in several missions for Bruce’s crusade. It always begins with detailed planning, execution, and meticulous cover of their involvement. He’s never been on this side of it though, not as a victim or as an officer of the law. It made his current situation doubly dangerous. The question that’s plagued him since before this whole mess started once again rears within his mind: is it worth it? 

He’s wrestled with these thoughts since before this incident, before he even joined the force. Working outside of the law to help people, to protect people, it’s what Bruce and his underground network does. It runs counter to his oath and the laws he swore to uphold. At the same time, those laws weren’t always designed to ensure the protection for everyone. The grinding weight of policies, prejudice, and the past didn’t always mean justice for all. 

“Officer Grayson? Are you still with us?” 

Dick turns his gaze to the small audience gathered at the table. He’s spent too much time here rehashing the longest twelve hours of his life. Twelve hours trapped and tortured by a madman, and his only scars decorate the skin between his neck and shoulder. The skin beneath his shirt prickles. Dick shifts alleviating some of the tension creeping into him. “Of course.” 

“We are ready to continue,” Racquel informs him. Her lips quirk in quick smile he remembers from their academy days, before she decided to champion the law in the courtroom. Dick ducks his head, giving her a wink. He turns back to the panel, composed and focused again. 

“As I was saying, we attended public workshop sponsored by the area community. It led us to the clinic, which had an excellent reputation for certain… issues that might appear in our relationship. It’s far in the future, but we needed to discuss birth options. Surrogates I mean.” 

“And during this meeting, you believe Strange’s network identified you as a male omega shifter?” 

“This is what I’ve come to conclude,” Dick replies. “At the end, the doc didn’t seem like he was completely grounded.” Dick looks away. “But I’ll let his actions speak for him.” 

“It’s true. Actions define a person’s character.” The investigator levels a heavy stare at Dick. “Which bring us back to what I consider to be the most pressing non-issue for my colleagues here. You chose to arrest Dr. Strange.” 

“It wasn’t a choice. It was the law and my duty as an officer.” Dick says the words as he had for the past hour, proudly, defiantly even. 

“I understand, and despite his initial claims, Dr. Strange’s subsequent statements corroborate your own.” Williams pauses, eyes lifting from the page. “Why did you do it? Why did you choose to arrest him when there were other methods that were within your grasp?” He looks at Dick with narrowed eyes still unable to understand despite the many times Dick walked the panel through his version of events. 

“Because I believe in justice,” says Dick, gaze steady over the gathered faces. “I took an oath to serve and protect. And knowing Dr. Strange was put to trial and sentenced in accordance with the law is the justice many of our victims’ families would seek.” 

The IA investigator’s gravelly voice cut through the silence. “I think we’re wandering afield here. The topic of this final review session is supposed to be Officer Grayson’s actions during the immediate aftermath of this rescue. Officer Grayson’s handling of his abduction and miraculous arrest of Dr. Strange is no longer in question. But his actions that lead to the disappearance of at least twenty of the victims are. 

“According to our witness accounts, there were upwards of thirty latent types and full shifters in this facility, but fewer than fifteen remained on site with Officer Grayson when the BPD arrived on the scene. How does something like this happen? We have not been satisfied by your answer, Officer.” 

“I understand, ma’am. But it is the only answer I can give.” 

“And if you can repeat your answer, officer, we can continue.” 

Dick meets the panel’s gazes. “Several of the shifters had already organized an escape. They were releasing the doors manually. It’s how I escaped from my cell. I joined with several who were looking for an exit. After the confrontation with Dr. Strange, those shifters who were with me left. Others stayed. 

“After securing Dr. Strange, I notified dispatch of the situation and requested a full response. At that point, I had no true knowledge of the operational size or the number of victims that may be on site. But I had been on the scene at the Industry Drive site, and I’ve continued to support the investigation into this and other related crimes. More shifters found their way to me, some decided to leave prior to GCPD’s arrival. It appears others escaped in the confusion.” 

“And those who decided to leave, you didn’t try to stop them?” 

Dick bites back a sigh. He had purposely turned his back when the other abducted shifters separated themselves into two groups. Those willing to follow Bruce’s pack into the night and those standing by with him for the police. “I wasn’t in a position to do so. The scene was chaotic. There were people who needed immediate medical attention. Some people heard I was a cop and were desperate to talk to their loved ones. They wanted to go home. Others heard that I was a cop and didn’t want anything to do with me.” 

“I know what you’re looking for. You want to know if I could have handled it better. If there was some way for me to secure stop the big bad, take down every henchman in the building, and personally monitor every abducted person I came across. I do too.” He thinks about it all the time. It was on his mind when he and Cass recently walked the manor grounds and laughter bloomed from her like rare flowers. It plays through his thoughts when he wakes with Jason’s hand in his. “I go over that night in my head constantly trying to figure out how it could have gone differently. But at the end of the day, I did the best I could under extraordinary circumstance. It doesn’t make me a hero. It makes me a trained officer who got very, very lucky. When I returned to duty, I plan to continue my role as a liaison to the shifter community and encourage any persons involved to come forward with their testimony.” 

Raquel steps in smoothly. “Can we really ask more than that? I think that concludes Officer Grayson statements. Do we have any remaining questions?” 

It turns out the panel did have more questions. They doled them out over the course over the next hour, but the conversation around Dick’s statements is less tense. By the end of the interview, every panelist thanked Dick for his time and his service, and each shook his hand on their way out the door until only Dick and Raquel remained. 

“I am so glad that’s over,” she says, folding her papers away. “You were excellent today,” she adds, “not that I can expect any less from the Dick Grayson.” Her smile is bright, genuine 

“Let’s hope this finishes the process,” Dick says. “I really don’t want to sit through another one of these sessions.” 

“Actually, I think this review session is a good sign. The state bureau attended, and the questions he had were minor. Based on that, we can probably view this meeting as the last step before signing off on their report.“ 

“I suppose that’s true. I honestly thought they were here for more information about my bondmate.” 

Raquel’s expression softens. “I will fight tooth and claw to ensure BPD respects the privacy act. It is not necessary for shifters to disclose themselves in these circumstances. You and your mate are protected by the law. And by pack.” She declares, eyes flashing gold. Her gaze flicks to Dick’s shoulder. “Congratulations by the way. It’s been so crazy, I didn’t have time to offer you my best wishes.” 

Startled, Dick stares at Raquel for some long moments. It’s the first time he’s heard those words from a friend. The surprise ripples through him turning into something warm. Right. His face breaks into a smile. “Thank you.” 

He and Raquel walk the edge of bullpen. Several officers nod at Dick when he passes, but he’s left alone when in the company of his lawyer. He appreciates it even though it adds to the strange feeling of being in the building as a civilian, a witness. They’re about to part ways at the corridor, when a strident voice bounces into the air stirring the entire department. 

“Grayson! Get in here!” 

Raquel raises her brow, alarmed, but Dick only chuckles. “It’s the shift sergeant. I’m going to pop my head in and say hello.” After agreeing to call Raquel the following morning, Dick raps on the door and just this tiny shred of normalcy makes him feel grounded. “You bellowed, sir?” 

Sergeant Blake looks up when Dick steps into the door. “Wasn’t sure if you could hear me with all that fuzz growing around your ears,” Blake replies. “Make sure you brush up on your regulations on your little vacation. Looks like you need it.” 

Dick ruffle the hair curling over his ears. He has some plans to let it grow just beyond regulation length. “Just came into a little time off and decided to chill around the house. Celebrate my independence, or something like that.” 

“Ha!” Blake barked out a laugh. “Keep saying stuff like that and they’re going to put you behind a desk. That’s a special holiday of its own and you can’t escape it.” 

Dick makes himself comfortable. “Is that something you’ve heard?” 

“No,” says Blake. “Just wishful thinking on my part. The more time you’re riding desk, the less time I’m filing forms to keep you out of trouble.” He settles back in his chair considering Dick with dark eyes. “But if I had to guess, the investigation is being helped along. Stink never did stick to you, Grayson, and you did a lot of good. You always do. The city’s always looking for a hero and no one wants to take that away from them.” 

“Thank you, sir.” The words feel heavy, yet they’re the easiest ones to say. 

“The brass wants to talk to you, I’m sure, but until the panel releases their review statements, you will continue your leave. It’s been extended by another fourteen days.” 

Dick nods. “You did mention I needed time to brush up on the rules.” 

His eyes glitter in the low light. “I did, didn’t I? Well, it’s plenty of time for you to do some thinking.” 

“I have sir, and I will.” Dick grabs his bag and pulls out a folder. He places it on the sergeant’s desk. He leans back in his seat, fingers curled along his chin, a disapproving frown on his brow. 

“This better not be what I think it is,” he says. 

“It’s my application for the detective’s exam,” Dick says. “The next one that is. I worked on a big case recently and thought I could use it as a resume booster.” 

The sergeant stares at him before breaking into a burst of laughter. “You’re right about that. You are right about that. Okay.” He collects the folder and begins looking through the paperwork. “What made you change your mind?” 

“Bludhaven does need a hero,” Dick begins, “But more than that, they need people who will fight to find truth, who will uphold the law when it counts most. I can’t be a hero, but I can be that person. I am that person. I can do that on patrol. I can do that here. Either way, the ability to just try. It’s worth it.” 

Blake sets the folder down. “Good. Good. I’ll hold on to this then. Once you’re back from Bora Bora or wherever your vacation takes you, I’ll sign off so you can submit your application. And let me tell you, Grayson, you’ll have one hell of a recommendation.” 

The sergeant stands and Dick follows to his feet. They shake hands, and then he leads Dick to the door. 

Dick pauses. “Before I leave, there’s one thing I need to do.” 

“What is it now, Grayson?” The sergeant asks. 

“There’s a family I said I’d notify if we heard anything more about the victims. I’d feel better if this comes from me.” 

“Alright. And you’re officially out of my hair for two weeks. I’m about out of advice for you right now,” Blake says, and if Dick didn’t know better he’d say there’s a hint of fondness in his words. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t have something to teach you here. You think about that, Grayson. Think about that.” 

“I will sir. Thank you.” 

Dick’s desk is the same as he left when he left the precinct. Three file folders in line with the edge. A mug full of pens and markers next to his computer screen and a small jar of butterscotch candies half full on the other side for symmetry. The phone lit with a red blinking light alerting him to messages he’s not sure he should answer right now. From his desk, he can see the detectives milling in their offices just beyond the tilting blinds. 

He picks up the folder containing information for Veronica Lucas. He picks up the receiver and dials. He inhales softly when the line connects, composing himself. 

“Mrs. Trenton, this is Officer Grayson with the Bludhaven PD. I have information regarding your missing sister.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter of Bound. We did it y'all! Thank every single person for reading this story, asking me questions on tumblr, encouraging me through the rough times, and being patient. Writing can be hard, but you guys have made this process of figuring out how to write novel length fic a joy. 
> 
> Two things right quick:
> 
> 1\. I've added a warning here. We earn our rating in this chapter.
> 
> 2\. The fabulous @pentapoda gifted art for this fic. You can find [the amazing piece here on tumblr](https://pentapoda.tumblr.com/post/157326011103/for-corruptedempires-and-her-bound-verse-a). It is fantastically beautiful. And as I told them, if I am expressing even a tenth of this kind of emotion in my story, I'm a proud fic writer indeed.

When the phone rings, the Bludhaven skyline is dwindling in the rearview mirror. Dick smiles at the picture of a young man with unruly hair and a shy smile. “You’ve reached Dick Grayson. Today’s message is sponsored by ‘hello’ and the letter ‘Jay.’ As in, hello, Jay. It’s great to hear from you.” 

“You haven’t heard anything yet. You won’t stop talking,” Jason’s sleep-thickened voice grumbles over the line. “How’d it go?” 

“Well, the investigatory panel is still working on identifying the escaped victims, but it doesn’t seem like they’re setting me up as a scapegoat. I’m still on leave. Two weeks, but it’s not coming out of my time off. So, I guess….” Dick sighs feeling the faintest relief since his interviews began. “I guess it’s going as well as it can.” 

“Good. That’s good. And the other thing?” 

“Turned my application into Blake. If everything goes well, you’ll have to deal with me stressing over the detective exam.” 

Jason snorts. “You mean I’ll have to deal with you stressing out over the detective exam again. I wish you weren’t so good at projecting your emotions at everyone. Damian nearly scratched his haunches raw last time.” 

“That’s an exaggeration. It was small patch. Barely quarter-sized.” 

“More like three dollar coins-sized, but okay. Whatever helps you sleep at night.” 

“That would be you. You help me sleep at night.” Dick smiles when the line goes silent. He can only imagine Jason’s face, brow furrowed, ears burning hot while he clears his throat. 

“Need me to come down for the day?” 

“Nah. Funny thing. I was in the shower trying to get wash away the interview and decided the best way to spend my two weeks away is at home. I’m on my way up.” 

Jason inhales sharply. “Home. Okay. Okay. I need to, uh.” Jason’s voice trails away. There’s a muffled curse and the sounds of fabric rustling. Clearly Jason is still in bed. Dick glances at the clock, frowning. 

“Are you going to be up for company when I get in?” He asks, concerned. In the immediate days of their rescue, Jason barely had energy to leave the bed. “Because if you’re still feeling worn out--” 

“Stop.” Jason’s voice drops low, almost a rumble that sends a shiver down Dick’s spine. “Dick, I’m fine. I’ll see you when you get here.” 

“Okay,” says Dick. “See you soon.” 

“See you soon.” The words hold warm anticipation that makes the drive from Bludhaven to Gotham seem so long. 

Dick weathers the twelve miles of speed traps before opening his sporty hatchback and gliding up the interstate. Soon, Gotham City signs appear, but Dick exits onto the highway following the serpentine coastline. The narrow black ribbon lies nestled between an old growth forest and a sheer cliff face overlooking the island city. A few miles later along a secluded section of roadway, Dick finds the entrance to the grounds of Wayne Manor. The manor has been Dick’s home for a long time. His visits had become few and far between over the later part of the year. But since the case started, Dick’s returned quite frequently, and now. Now Dick’s glad to be home again. 

The pack is inside the main hall. Cass and Damian sit at the dark coffee table trading a stack of cards back and forth between them. Bruce rests against the couch engrossed in a sports broadcast. The Gotham Jets by the looks of it. Bruce always likes to support the home teams. 

Despite their senses being the sharpest in the household, they don’t seem to notice Dick striding through the hallway. He searches the room for more occupants, but this is it. Dick vaults over the back of the back of the couch and lands in a cloud of soft pillows. “Greetings, pack Wayne.” 

Bruce glances at him, a small quirk in his brow. “Hello, Dick. You are in high spirits.” 

Cass looks up from her hand and gives Dick an assessing glance. “Relief. He will feel it more strongly soon.” 

Dick grins at her before turning back to Bruce. “I hope so. Raquel thinks the investigation is ending after this meeting. My sergeant says there’s pressure to provide a quick and transparent report to the press about the incident.” 

“And how do you feel about that?” Bruce asks. 

“I feel better than I have in while. And you know, it’ll be harder for them to deny me anything on my next eval so.” Dick shrugs. “I can deal.” 

“Good,” Bruce says simply. He hesitates if only for a moment, a soft look in his eye. “You’ve always made the difference, Dick, everywhere you go. Bludhaven needs that now more than ever.” The tacit approval is as unexpected as it is welcome. Bruce has been more expressive and present lately. The pack is better for how involved Bruce has been. Certainly, he appears as a wolf less since the ordeal, making his presence more approachable in some ways, not just for Dick, but Cass, Damian, and Jason of course. Always Jason. 

Since the moment Jason fell in their lives, a skinny, loud-mouthed kid who told Dick he’d better watch out because Jason was taking over, he had been their catalyst. Jason was taking over. He did every time. When he first arrived, when he disappeared, when he returned, and now a fourth time, when Jason lay unable to transform from the in-between state created by Dr. Strange’s experiments. He’d remained in that state for nearly forty-eight hours. Dr. Thompson kept him sedated to help with the pain. Dick had remained by Jason’s side during the whole ordeal unable to do more than hold onto Jason, his body, his attention, anyway he could to let him know he was safe. The others kept vigil too, but it was Dick who had woken to Jason’s moaning softly, body fully human and wracked in sweat. It was then that Dr. T and Alfred forced him to leave. Dick had returned to his bedroom and sat on his floor dazed and numb. He remembers the exact moment when the door opened and Bruce prowled through on all fours like he had when Dick was a child. He hadn’t realized how grateful he’d been for these moments, when he could wrap his arms around the wolf and cry into soft fur, but he did then. All the fear and pain and yes, relief that Jason pulled through once more had left his body in wracking sobs. 

When needed, Bruce was always there. 

“Thanks, you old softie.” Dick looks around the room again. “So, where’s… Alfred.” 

Cass lays down another card. “In the garden.” The tiny smile on her lips is knowing. 

“Cool. Cool.” Dick pointedly folds his arm over the back of the couch and settles promising the pack two commercial breaks. It would be rude to just get up and leave. His bond rests lightly in his chest, a warm coil of feelings that aren’t his alone. It feels brighter right now but also hazy, and Dick is curious as to why Jason hasn’t come down to greet him. He shifts uncomfortably. Two commercial breaks and then he’d just— 

“For heaven’s sake,” Damian snaps. “Todd is upstairs in the western wing. Please go and see him. We can have a proper conversation once you’ve returned.” 

Dick tosses a throw pillow at Damian’s head with a pillow. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. When I get back we can talk about your date.” 

Bruce looks between them. “Date?” 

“Yeah. Damian didn’t tell you?” All Dick sees is confusion from Bruce and Damian’s horrified blush. “Damian didn’t tell you,” he repeats. “Right. Sorry.” 

“I’ve been betrayed.” Damian snarls, giving Dick a baleful eye. That combined with the first commercial sends Dick to his feet. 

“I’m going to check on Jason. I’ll be right back down in a few.” He starts towards the door. “Hopefully after this conversation plays out,” he says under his breath. 

Both Dick and Jason were given new quarters in the western wing of the manor, adjoining rooms. A polite nod to the compounded complexities of their relationship, first bound and now mated through Jason’s bite. Dick had thought he wouldn’t like it, had thought he’d retain the need for that one space he’s existed in since childhood, but the transition was easy. It was bigger for one and tastefully decorated in the “modern gentleman” style Alfred insists is a thing. And the door between himself and Jason is always open. 

Dick sets his bag down on the floor. The television blares in the small sitting area, but Jason isn’t there. Dick slips out of his tennis shoes and shakes out his hair turning toward the door to his bed room that’s cracked open. 

“Look. I don’t mind you spending time in here when I’m gone,” he says, pushing inside and stops, breath caught in the back of his throat at the sight waiting for him. He didn’t expect this. He really, really didn’t expect this. 

Dick reels backwards colliding with the heavy oak frame, natural grace abandoning him in his rush to leave. He stumbles out the door and shuts it behind him for good measure. He’s seen Jason undressed before but never like this, never alone in the moment of pleasure, never hard and whispering to himself, never. Never seen Jason’s long body stretched taut as he fucks into his fist. 

In the split-second Dick’s eyes roam over Jason’s nude body sprawled across his bed, he catalogued so many details. The sweat at Jason’s temples, the way his lip worried under sharp teeth. Jason’s foot planted foot on the floor, heel pressing down hard to provide resistance and leverage to push his body into his large, sure hand. 

He thinks Jason’s body is so different now. 

He thinks his body and his mind are a little more in synch than he believed with the burst of anxious want tickling the back of his throat. 

He thinks Jason’s only curse is a big dick, then smothers the anxious laughter in his palm because this situation is amusing on some level but not for Jason. 

He thinks about making a strategic retreat. It shames him. At the same time, he’s edging towards the exit. 

The bedroom door rebounds from the wall with a sharp bang. Jason’s poised on the balls of his feet glancing glances wildly about the room, like he’s ready to give chase. He’s dressed himself hurriedly in a yellow tee turned inside out and faded sweatpants that struggle to stay on lean hips. The fabric pools at his ankles. The front tents out with obvious support, strong like the center pole of the big top, and that sends Dick into another fit of nervous laughter. How appropriate. 

Jason chokes back a growl. “You laughing at me?” 

“No. No.” Dick replies, coughing into his fist. “Sorry. Just. When you come home to your room, you have a certain understanding of what’s gonna be there. This is not what I expected to welcome me home.” But maybe he should have been expecting it. He’d recognized the urgency on Jason’s voice, the tightness humming when he growled Dick’s name. 

Jason frowns heavily. Disbelief wrinkled over his face. “Right. Well. I’m happy to see yo—.” Jason growls when Dick’s eyes drop from his face then sweep back up almost guiltily. “Forget it. You said you wanted to talk. Talk.” 

Dick tilts his head taking in Jason’s slouch against the frame. Arms crossed, a faint sneer on his lips, he looks like all the things he’s never been with Dick, not since Jason first came to the manor. Jason had been a wholly different person nearly five years ago, defiant and defensive. Back then, Jason had worn his long sleeve shirts even in the hottest weather to cover the scars peppering his bodies. Back then, he tried to hide his true feelings behind an aggressive passivity that broke with a wave of fear so palpable, Dick could practically smell it. He doesn’t want them to slide back that far, not now. 

“Not like this,” he mutters, stepping into Jason’s space. He slides his hands around Jason’s hips tugging the shirt up as he goes. 

Jason stills. “What are you doing?” 

“Getting comfortable,” Dick says. “Well, getting you comfortable.” Dick points out Jason wearing clothing isn’t necessary right now, which gets Jason’s eyes glowing. He laughs. “It’s not that kind of talk.” Not yet at least. “I just mean, since when did you start wearing shirts?” 

“I don’t know. I just.” Jason ducks his head through the neck of his shirt. His ears and cheeks flush a bright red. “Seemed like you just saw a lot of me.” He mumbles standing docile while Dick rises to his toes to free him from the restrictive clothing. Dick tosses the shirt over the back of a chair earning him Jason’s disapproving huff. Dick gives him his patented look of wide eyed innocence then chuckles. 

“See. Better already. And to be frank, I’m more used to you walking around the place like this,” he says, sliding his palms down Jason’s shoulders. His fingers linger over the raised skin scarring his chest and biceps, places where the muscles tore and reformed during that in-between shift. “Plus, you look real good like this.” 

“Yeah?” Jason asks, voice somehow both smug and surprised. “I thought it was another thing you didn’t notice.” 

Dick stares at him for a full moment before realizing Jason is referring to their dates. And that the whole shirtless thing was some kind of ploy. He shakes his head. “I notice everything about you, little wing, even if I don’t realize I’m noticing.” He tips up to his toes and places a soft kiss to Jason’s lips. 

They had just begun moving towards intimacy before the abduction, and navigating these waters had become easier and harder with this new bond between them. Still, Dick is surprised by the sudden burst of heat rising in his chest. It’s Jason, dark waters and long nights, and Dick tastes the fire in his soul for a moment, feels it sinking down inside to settle in his gut and he moans, clutching at Jason when his tongue slices between his lips and the kiss deepens, a current dragging Dick under. Then Jason pulls away and the connection is ruthlessly closed. 

Dick blinks up at him, mouth open. “Wow. He says.” 

“Sorry. Sorry. I’ve been. Missing you.” Jason pushes Dick back a step then takes a step back himself. “Look. Talk first. Make out later.” 

“Yeah,” says Dick, buying time to organize his scorched thoughts. “Yeah. I wanted to talk about work. With you.” He leans against the wall beside Jason. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since I had all that free time.” 

“Free time? You had four days medical leave before they hauled you in to start this bullshit investigation. How is that free time?” Jason says, voice bitter. 

Dick hides his smile, pleased that Jason is always ready to defend him. They always have each other’s back. “It’s procedure, Jay. Just magnified because of the case. Anyway, you asked about that other thing, and I told you I turned in my detective’s application. I realized that even if things go sideways, I’m going to continue fighting. Being on the right side of the law is necessary, but I’m not going to stop following truth and I’m not going to stop helping people. And not only shifters. I was reminded that I do good work, I can help people, and I want to keep doing that. For Gotham, for Bludhaven, for Bruce.” He takes Jason’s hand. “For you. I want you to know that.” 

Jason looks at him, the gold in his eyes shining. “I wouldn’t expect any different from you, Dickie,” he says, reeling Dick against his side. “And thank you for involving me in this conversation. You know I’ll be by your side no matter what, right?” 

Dick wonders if it could have always been this easy. Or if it’s the fact that he’s let go of everything and accepted the bond. And his bondmate. 

“What’s the smile for?” Jason traces the curve of Dick’s lips. 

“Hmm?” Dick glances up. “Oh. Sorry. I was just thinking. You remember Raquel? She congratulated us today. Well, me because of the bond. I think she’s the first person to do that. The first person who isn’t in our immediate pack.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. It felt….” Dick pushes the heavy hair from his face while he thought about that moment. “Good. For someone to know. I still have a ways to go with, but there’s one thing I’m certain of.” He takes a step forward feeling a quiver of anxiousness shoot through him. “You. I’m ready for everything that means.” 

After observing Jason for so long, this new iteration charged with the blood of the wolf, Dick’s picked up some of the physical cues of when he’s enhancing his senses. He’ll squint and shake his head when using the sight and exhale through his mouth when he’s scenting the room, the lungful of air expelled casting a tiny cloud just beyond his lips. 

Jason exhales. “You’re still scared.” 

“I am not.” 

“You are. You said that.” He backs down and starts scratching at his elbow becoming smaller somehow in that tiny motion. “You said it’d be easy with me. And now that you’re saying this stuff to me while I’m about to get knot happy. Fuck, your timing, Dickie. It needs a lot of work” 

Dick blinks. “Wait. You are. It’s happening? Right now?” 

“Kinda. I guess. I was just trying to, I don’t know. Knock one out before you got here so it wouldn’t be so bad. I tried.” Jason takes a deep breath and begins again. “I tried to wait. See if I could get through it, but I can’t Dick. I swear, I tried. The way they talk about it. Rutting isn’t supposed to be that bad but right now. I always want you near me, you know? But right now I want you closer.” 

The word resonates through Dick, wrapping around his chest and twisting. “Closer,” he repeats, taking a step forward. 

“Yes.” Jason’s hands flex into fists when Dick continues in halting steps. He doesn’t move when Dick stops just outside of his bubble, an errant moon to resisting the gravity between them. He doesn’t move when Dick takes another step and their shoes knock together. 

Dick grabs Jason’s shoulders and pulls until they’re curving toward one another and his hands can run up Jason’s neck and the soft dark hair there. “Jason,” he whispers. “It’s okay if you need me. I need you too. So much.” 

Jason’s eyes grow heavy. He licks his lips. “Closer, Dick. Please.” 

“I want you so much.” Dick brings their mouths together in another kiss. Dick’s the one to make the next move, sliding his hands around Jason’s waist and pushing his sweats down. They are loose enough to simply fall to the floor if not for the hard dick curving up against his belly. Dick shivers, a frisson of nerves that he will get over. He palms Jason’s ass, squeezes, grinds his body up and hopes Jason gets the message. He does, eventually. After tugging the clothes off their bodies, after pulling Dick into another wet kiss that leaves his knees shaken and his pride smarting. Dick doubles down on the next attacking Jason’s mouth and giving him another lesson in thoroughness until Jason’s grinding dirty against him, urgent whimpers spilling from his throat. After Jason licks his neck and kisses his chest and bites down on his left nipple and thumbs the other and they kiss all over again. He picks Dick up in his strong arms and carries him back into the bedroom. 

His body falls to the bed with a soft _whump_ that flutters the bedding and jostles the pillows. He expects Jason to follow immediately, to slide over his body and let their cocks touch as they grind into one another. But Jason surprises him by pressing lips to his ankle bone then leaving a trail of dry-mouthed kisses to his inner thighs. He tarries there, no other word for it, mouth open, tongue wet, teeth nibbling along the soft skin. It’s a little disconcerting the feeling that washes over Dick while he stares down at Jason worshiping his body. Bizarre to lay like this, to be worshiped like this, to find it soothing, to understand he likes it. His stomach clenches, a pleasant mingling of anxious pleasure and welcoming shame. Then Jason cups his dick, brings his wet mouth to the base and licks all the way up to the wet tip. 

“Jay!” Dick moans, jerking when squeezing him tightly then abandons his cock, the hot, needy thing and continues his journey upwards. ¬ 

Jason parts Dick’s thighs with his hands spreading his body wide and welcoming to his weight. It’s a good feeling, the heavy press of his skin and bones pinning Dick in place. His stomach is warm and softly rigid over Dick’s cock and the pressure is enough to get him interested. Their lips meet in another kiss, only hungrier, needier, their moans shaky, their hands desperate. A broad palm slides up the back of Dick’s thigh, between his cheeks and teases his hole. 

“Yes.” 

Jason rolls onto his knees. His eyes burn a trail from Dick’s face to his ass and back as if torn between where to look. Jason settles on Dick’s eyes, the gold-rimmed heat burning when Jason brings fingers to his mouth and sucks them deep. Dick has to close his own eyes when a single digit teases his entrance, presses at the tight ring, coaxes its way inside. And that’s just like Jason, to tease and press and work his way into Dick’s life and his heart and now his body. Dick wants him there too so badly. He begins to rock with the motion feeling a little embarrassed by how suddenly he’s out of breath. His soft pants are the only real sound in this room. 

“You’re too quiet. It’s not I thought there’d be ah. A little more sexy banter between the two of us.” Dick’s breath hitches in the back of his throat when Jason’s lone finger turns into two. “Not that I’m complaining,” he adds when they start to slow. 

He knows the exact path Jason’s gaze travels back to his face. He feels it wander from between Dick’s legs, along the band of his dick shivering against his belly, the lines of his belly that flex from strain, the wet indentations around Dick’s right nipple, to his swollen lips. And finally, finally to meet Dick’s eyes which flutter open. 

Jason’s brow creases like he’s attempting a puzzle he can’t solve. His fingers stop. “What do you want me to say?” 

“Anything. Just. The thing of it is, all this quiet is.” He pauses thinking the next few words carefully, because the truth is, Jason’s focus, the lewd squish of fingers pumping in and out, the soft breath tickling along his thighs, so close to his dick but not close enough, it’s killing him. “It’s making me a little nervous, I guess. And I don’t want to be nervous with you.” 

Jason’s face smooths. He leans up and presses a quiet kiss against his lips, another. “I’ve never been much of a talker in bed.” 

“It’s okay, Jaybird. Just say whatever you’re thinking. It’s easy. Like, right now, I’m thinking I really want you to keep going.” He trails fingers across Jason’s chest down to the forearm that’s inconceivably still and resting against his thigh. 

“I don’t think you wanna hear it,” Jason warns. 

“Try me,” he teases, eyes lighting with the challenge. “You can do it.” 

“You’re a dick.” 

“I’m being encouraging.” Dick smiles at him gently. “I want to know.” 

“My control is slipping.” Jason points to his temple. “And it wouldn’t be Shakespeare, you know? Especially not the way I’m feeling right now.” 

“Oh, my lovely boy,” Dick whispers, cupping his cheek. “Wouldst thou leave your lover here withering?” 

Jason blinks at him slowly, a slow smile spreading over his lips. “That’s not how it goes.” 

Dick closes the distance between them to give Jason a soft kiss. “I don’t need poetry, little wing. Just talk to me.” 

Jason gives him another of those deep searching looks. His expression is hesitant, like he’s worried about failing in this one, specific way. He shrugs before Dick can take it back, offering a quick smile. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

“I will make no complaints,” he promises. “Just say what you’re thinking right now.” 

“Alright,” Jason says after exhaling harshly. “I wish I had better words for you because you deserve them. But the wolf in me can only concentrate on how you smell. I can tell how much you want me. I always could.” 

Dick exhales slowly. “Tell me more.” 

“I’m thinking you,” Jason begins haltingly, “I’m thinking you feel as good as you look and that’s saying something. Because you’ve never looked better than you do right now.” His eyes flash to Dick’s face seeking something, approval maybe, and Dick gives an encouraging nod even as shivers start down his spine. Jason licks his lips. “With your legs spread for me. With your body opening for my fingers. But that’s a lie. Because once I make sure you’re ready, once I get you wet and soft inside, I’m going to fill you with my cock.” 

His fingers start to move again. The slow drag and slide send tiny tremors through Dick like the first warning tremors before the earth tears itself apart. His cock wets the skin below his navel. 

“You like that, huh? You always smell so.” Jason’s voice trails away. He drags his tongue up Dick’s throat to the space between his ear and jaw. Kisses him there. Drags his nose along the same path and takes a deep breath. “Fuck yeah. Like that only anxious. And you’d never say what you were feeling. 

“I’m thinking it’s because you were worried it’d be this good,” Jason says, building speed with his words, his hand. “That we’d get together on your bed and I’d ruin you for anyone else.” 

Dick gasps out a denial, tries to say he wasn’t trying to hide. He just didn’t know how to deal with everything changing between them and how selfish he felt when Jason’s changes are considerably so much more. But now that Jason’s voiced this concern, Dick is considering that he might be right. He’s on the verge of ruin. There’s a tight string inside of Dick that keeps winding tighter and tighter, like wire around the peg of a violin. Jason’s words aren’t doing a thing to relax him. They’re twisting inside of him, urging Dick to cant his hips in time with the rise and fall of his speech, the fuck of his fingers. 

“I’m thinking that I wish I opened you up with my mouth first. That I spread your ass and gave into my instinct and tasted you. I coulda lapped at this tight little hole for hours. Until you begged me for it. Until you came from it. Fuck, I’ve been dying to fuck you, Dickie. You don’t know how much I want to, how much I need to.” 

“Do it. Jason. Jason, do it,” Dick pleads, voice soft. “Fuck me.” 

Jason surges onto his knees, hooking one of Dick’s legs over his shoulder. The head of his cock presses at the rim of Dick’s hole, hot and heavy against his fingers, so unexpected Dick cannot be held accountable for the sobbing plea breaking free from his lips, the “god, please,” that makes Dick close his eyes and wait for the bed to collapse so he can escape the shame of how much he wants this. 

“I’m going to give it to you, baby. I’m going to push inside. I’m going to fuck you just like you need me to. And I’m going to come so deep inside you’re. Gonna. Taste it.” Jason punctuates each word with the tease of his cock thrusting up, dragging the hot length of him across Dick’s hole over and over again. “Then you’ll know you’re mine. Just like you know I’m yours.” 

“Inside. Jason. Get inside me. I’m gonna. Jay. I’m gonna,” Dick’s words slur into a shocked pants when he’s filled again. Three fingers press deep into his body. They hook and press down on the tight bundle of nerves that send Dick’s body rocketing up from the bed. His toes scramble against the sheets. His chest heaves desperately for air. 

“Go ahead, Dickie. Come on. Come on, baby, show me how good it is.” 

And Dick does. A wall of white noise buzzes through him and he just let’s go. Hot come slaps across his belly, his chest, his neck, his lips in three long spurts. He swears he’s closed his eyes but all he can see is Jason. Jason. 

“Jason,” he breathes, shivering at the tongue licking across his mouth and chin. The broad side of it flattens down his chest and Dick groans, realizing Jason’s intent. Jason’s warm palms slide up the back of his thighs, hook beneath his knees and spreads him open. 

“Jesus but you look like such a pretty picture,” he whispers before taking the head of Dick’s cock in his filthy mouth, sucking at the slit, cradling it with a gentle tongue. He sinks down, swallowing once, twice, and Dick arches up with a shout. 

Jason pulls away and wipes the come from the corner of his mouth. “I knew you weren’t done yet. I’m not either.” 

He lines the softening length with kisses. Sucks Dick’s taut sac into his mouth, trails down the perineum and. 

Dick freezes because that’s something he didn’t. It’s just dirty talk. But Jason’s licking his hole slowly, the tip pointed and teasing and spearing into him. It’s too much. It’s too goddamn much. Dick shakes, feeling like he could come again from the shock. It feels like he’s on the edge, on a white cloud of sensations and the tiniest push will send him floating away. He barely registers Jason pulling back, kissing at his inner thighs before straightening his legs and sweeping the hair back from his face. 

The bed dips and rebounds. Jason’s footsteps pad to the bathroom. Running water. Gargling. Spit ringing the sink. The bed dips again. Dick rolls into the hands reaching for him needing to feel warm skin against his own, wrap Jason in his arms and never let him go. Smiling, Jason pushes dry kisses along his forehead and the bridge of his nose, his cheeks, every bit of his face he can until Dick captures his mouth. 

He tastes like spearmint. Dick kisses him breathless. Starting the faint scars along his shoulders, Dick let’s his fingers wander down the hard planes of Jason’s body. The puckered skin feels so tender. In a fit of whimsy, he decides to dedicate a day for kissing each one. He continues exploring across the sudden slant of his waist, the seriously tight ass Jason’s got going on, the power in his thighs and back up to the heat of Jason. His hips twist away from Dick, hiding it, but he can feel the heat of it beckoning him, and when his hands finally wrap around Jason’s cock, he swallows the breathy moan with another kiss. It’s seriously gratifying. 

“Jason. You got me soft. And wet,” he whispers, tracing the tiny pockmark above Jason’s lip. “I want you to fill me up.” 

The golden ring around his blue eyes flare. “Hands and knees, wonder boy.” 

Jason guides Dick to his knees the rub his back when he sways. Dick wants to frown at him and say he doesn’t need coddling, but his arms feel weak as sugar. Besides, he likes it. He likes Jason’s mouth pressing tender kisses over his spine. He likes Jason’s hands gripping his soft inner thigh and spreading him out. 

Jason’s fingers card through Dick’s hair parting the heavy strands, tightening his grip with a tug that places Dick exactly where he wants him to be, throat arched, heavy-lidded eyes widened and focused on him. And when Dick’s attention is wholly his, Jason’s sure hands hold on while he takes Dick apart with one long, slow kiss. 

Jason’s hand spreads out over the headboard and he arches his spine rolling deep and heavy until Dick feels himself start to wet Jason’s belly, hard again already. 

“Look at me,” Jason says, brushing Dick’s cheek gently. Dick’s lashes flutter open to meet Jason’s intense gaze. His iris seems fully gold now, the blue of his iris thin a pale. “Don’t stop.” 

Dick gasps when his knee pushed out and he’s spread wider, exposed. Jason’s free hand slide up his thigh, his fingers wet and cool at his hole. Dick’s breath catches but it’s not what he’s expecting, not what he needs. The pop of the lube cap. The gentle press of fingers again. He rocks his back with a moan. 

“I’m ready. I’m ready. I swear, Jason. I’m ready.” He shivers when Jason lets loose a deep growl, one that reverberates through Dick’s very bones. Then he feels the heavy, wet thud of Jason’s cock sloping against his rim. The touch is like lightning and Dick squirms beneath the weight hiking back like he can just will Jason inside of him. “I’m ready. I’m ready. Please, Jason.” The words cause Jason to release another sound, a wounded groan and he presses forward, like it’s so easy. It is not easy. Dick’s arms begin to tremble. His mouth opens in a silent oh, which is quickly replaced by a hiss, a moan, as he’s slowly, inexorably filled. “Please,” Dick whispers. “Please.” Please because he has no other words, can’t figure out how to bend his tongue to move to the next part of please, don’t stop. Please, fill me. Please, Jason, please just fuck me. Because Jason starts. 

Jason slow with it, a steady, inexhaustible thrust making room for Jason and his big fat cock. Dick twists his head to the side gasping for breath, moaning when Jason pulls back only to thrust deep again and again. It’s everything Dick would have imagined, the power in Jason’s body, the heat beneath his skin that melts them together. He wants this to go on forever. 

“Don’t stop,” he gasps. “Jay, Jay don’t stop.” 

“Oh fuck. Already, I just.” Jason’s voice trails away. “Dick. Dick, I’m sorry. I can’t. I’m coming. I’m.” 

Dick’s eyes fly open. 

It took the better part of a year before Dick acknowledged the fact that he would one day sleep with Jason. He had begun preparing with his own special type of reckless caution. Research, web and the Wayne library, then practical application, fingers, stiff toys and the occasional plug that would lock so snug inside of him. Absolutely nothing prepared him for this moment, Jason hips slapping against him, his cock rigid and plunging, the utter stillness that swept over him when Jason stopped, fingers grasping the covers beside Dick’s hand, knuckles white and then. Dick shudders choking on a moan as he’s filled with a warm wet flood of come. “Oh god, oh god,” he whispers, shaking. His hand pets against his belly like he can feel it from the outside in. And then there’s pressure, such great pressure against the rim of his hole. His hips jerk back for it. He’d been so afraid, but now, Dick needs it. He needs it. He needs Jason’s knot. “Knot me,” he breathes. 

“Don’t move,” Jason snaps, voice hoarse. “Fuck, Dickie. Don’t move. Don’t move.” He pants heavily groans then sighs. His hands slide over Dick’s back, hips, spreads Dick’s ass wide and he can feel Jason’s hungry gaze focused on where they are tied together. 

Dick slips down to his elbows, head heavy, body tight and aching. His cock is dribbling between his thighs, throbbing in time with his racing heart. He has to come again. He reaches down hissing when his palm wraps around the straining flesh, it’ll be over so quick. He’s careful, quick, two jerks of his elbow and then… Jason winds his hand down and stops the motion. Pulls Dick’s hand away denying him release. “What?” 

“I said don’t move. Just relax. Relax.” Jason’s hands try to soothe him but it’s not enough. Dick arches his back and rocks urging that pressure towards where he needs it. He’s stopped again, this time by a hand in his hair, Jason tugging him back, hard teeth at his throat. And Dick’s entire body spasms feeling a rush through their bond, a great wave of heat from Jason. “If you relax. I can fuck you again.” Lips replace teeth, quiet kisses, soft words. “I can knot you again.” 

Jason makes good on his promise. Some time later, five minutes, an hour, Dick isn’t sure. He just knows that not soon enough, the pressure eases and Jason shifts backwards, groaning with awe. “I’m still hard,” Jason whispers. “Fuck, I’m so fucking hard for you, Dick.” 

“Again?” Dick asks woozily, feeling so turned on he’s drunk with need. One hand spreads between his shoulder blades holding him down while Jason rises back to his knees. 

“Yes. Again,” Jason whispers spreading him open all over again. And again until Dick dissolves into the feeling of hands at his hips, teeth at his teeth, fucked hard and so deep he comes gasping and moaning with Jason’ voice in his ear until it all goes dark. 

When Dick wakes, the sun has set, and his bedroom is illuminated by a small lamp and Jason’s eyes. He rests his head on Dick’s chest placing small kisses across his heart. Once he sees Dick’s eyes open, his lips part and he sucks a pink nipple into his mouth to softly suck. 

“Insatiable,” Dick murmurs, reaching out to cup his cheek. 

Jason shakes his head, releasing Dick with a wet pop. “That’s you,” he says. “It’s always you, Dick.” He swallows thickly. “A long time ago, when all this started, you wouldn’t let me apologize. You said what’s done is done, but I need you to know that it’s always been you. When I first came here and saw you, I knew you were it for me. And I think, no wait,” he says, fending off Dick’s soft denials. “I know that’s why when I came back all this happened. Me holding on to you like that. But I swear to you, Dick. I swear.” He’s stopped by Dick’s finger against his lips. 

“Jason. You said that you chose me that night, you held onto me. Did you ever think that I might have chosen you too. I held onto you. I finally had you back in my life, and I wasn’t going to let you go.” He coaxes Jason up until he’s spread over Dick’s body. “I may be yours, but Jason, you are also mine.” 

Jason nods, a tear escaping his eyes. Dick pulls him down to seal his words with a kiss, because they are forever. 

Bound.


End file.
